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The Forgotten (Citizens)
Morning spills
from a spoon at breakfast
Pax at eight o' clock - the cold
Brittle fingers crack in monochrome
(Skies are grey, so very heavy)
Turning, the world continues to grind
Today into tomorrow, it is the cruel
Effacement of memory by time
Yesterday - was just another
Passing face at the window
And surely, slowly, carefully
Dystopia settles
Like fine dust over furniture
In a house long abandoned
By a family that no one can remember.
