Collapsed Lexicon | Page 81

another
 doing
 day,

forms
 and
 fades
 away,

as
 the
 sky
 drapes
 close-­‐

hope
 constricts,
 and
 i
 compose

these
 lines
 of
 fallow
 furrows-­‐

my
 yesterdays,
 for
 tomorrows.

By
 Strider
 Marcus
 Jones

81