I cannot recall where I woke up

this morning. I am not unused to

this. It is a long-held state of affairs,

and true, and even a metaphor

that only the lonely are free—

I claim no such grandiosity,

what with the friends and family

dying all around me (a metaphor),

nor shall I belabour the details

in that peculiar and disjointed

manner of my contemporaries,

but I have a castle, and it is white

and truly, honestly—not without

forceful and unbefitting recollection—

its place at dawn is lost. Perhaps

the emptiness on the hill, with

the steps, and the dead grass

(some strangers saw me there)

but no more. I cannot recall,

nor shall I remember, where I will

build my castle for this next dawn.

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