The end of night
just lies there
in wait for the dawn,
at the base of trees,
in pools at the bottom
of steep streets.
“Don’t fall for it!
It’s a trap!”
I want to yell
in warning
to the sun, as though
he could hear me,
as though this,
as though we,
were a bad movie,
and only that.
Because bad movies
are the only place
those things ever work.
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