somewhere from under the door
monsoon crawled in
and memories seeped out
to become tomorrow's mildew.
the lone candle that broods inside
is soggy from the flame
and silence sits and scratches the old vinyl
for it wants to hear
the tin roof lament in the rain.
that night when the cricket sought shelter
I kept the door shut
as loneliness and I
sat smoking the same cigarette.
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