Yard Sale of Thoughts

Blotted sky,
the blue absorbed out,
and they’ll be no clouds
tonight to ferry me South.

No, today will not
stain memory.
It’s scribbled down
anonymously,
in disappearing ink,
sure to be forgotten
about.

The weary writer
exits the page relieved
that next week,
she will remember nothing.

©2023 | K. Hartless

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