near 5.45am
Sisyphus and Tantalus
caught like errant moths
wings plucked
imprisoned
in the bell jar of my
waking
stripped of nocturnal immortality, and
like Count Dracula,
forced to face their deathly dawn
chained together, like
crumbling funereal edifices
scotched teetering
upon the bottom of my bed
sallow and redundant
I, like a great white hunter
sit proudly between them both
relieved
but saddened at the same instant
to have finally deposed
their tormenting reign.
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