Always the Day After

The high I felt yesterday has settled into melancholy.
That’s how it is with me.
So much joy one day.
So much I’ll-stay-in-this-place-all-night.
Then the next morning
eyes like sandstone
the little voices come again
to remind me
I will die.
Everything dies. We live like flies
for a few days before dying
inside the narrow space where windows slide open.

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