Whiteness
It is one of these late mornings
when everything is white
where the sky is overcast by
the chilly remnants of rain.
Vehicles glide past the moist tar
children's senseless screaming
muffled by the aftermath of mist.
I lay on my back
on the firmly soft bed grasping
the drifted pieces of
disjointed dreams.
Objects, walls, the ceiling
breathing noiselessly under
the stretch of milky white.
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