and my shirt is utterly thin:
the breeze flails my unwashed hair about
as each gust penetrates my shirt—
tightening my skin
and tensing my muscles.
the sunlight and the shade
fight for my attention
as the shapes of street lamps and awnings fuse together
to make amorphous blobs
of darkness.
today is a March day
with just a hint of late September
and a dash of August:
May is nowhere to be found.
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