When the day is done

Its temper tantrums

There’s nothing to write

The day is frittered away

Like laundry on the line

Set free to the wind

And it was never here

A conspiracy cover-up

Life frays a day

Punched out a stray crumb

From the pulsing loaf of bread

Laundry in the wind

You chase over the hills

We’re all empty days

That are frittered down to

Laundry in the wind…

Author's Notes/Comments: 

this is a sum-up to the book's first saga, the ending poem

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