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Thrifty Hours
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Thrifty Hours

Poem By tyler madden

With so many hours piled on my back,
my spine collapsed; memory and I
shorter now than when in morning we sat
planning this day to be long.
Now, back bending over with my eyelids
in the curve of a cat, yawning and shivering, reminiscent
of grappling with last breaths,
off to little death like the night before.
And it’s sad
that others have saved their energy for now,
while I’ve spent all mine, in moderation surely, but all gone now
all the same,
spread thinly over so many long, plain hours
none now to waste on outburst -
the genuine joy needed now in seeing you,
who is deserving, wasted
on the exchange of pleasantries
with a crowd of acquaintances.

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