Cooing our misgiving and quarrel, three pigeons
Perched on a wobbly wire electrifying shacks sing
Misty musings in the clasping chill of early winter.
A joint in hand and fury at walls breathing,
Here a poem about quarantined days rots,
Flaking into a stale mood and
Recollections marooned
In empty chambers of a self-flagellating heart.
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