Mark Danowsky

If Days Were Blackjack Each Night I Would Bust

Gloaming is the harbinger of nightfall.

And since 10th grade, 8 p.m. has been my hour

of reckoning. After Eight, I’ve said

so many times, and meant after nightfall.

I’m saying it now and it’s not even night.

I know what’s coming, and yet I don’t.

Night sets in like a fever.

 

 

 

 

 

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ISSUE 96
Not Even Playing

 

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