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To Nick Bruno's previous piece

Nightscape 

Time meanders the nightscape 
and picks off dreams as he whistles 
an inexorable tune. He stares at me, 
smokes cigarillos, kicks feet up 
on an ottoman and smirks. 
 
I look down to see my splayed and broken
feet embedded in the hardwood floors. 
They bleed onto the surface, that absorbs 
the crimson. My guest shakes his head, 
gets up with a creak and resumes his song.