Lone Strand of Brunette
I dangle off the edge
of white, ceramic cliff;
accompanies a flickering fluorescent sun
trying to bleach grease
from my four-day lack of shower streak.
Chemicals are unhealthy for natural bodies.
At the tip of ceramic cliff
a gust of doorway cross breeze detangles me; free--
meanwhile, a drop of rain stuck to a dry patch
of the passenger seat window
waits on a passing droplet to share its' momentum.
I take my leave,
wondering if I'm really free
without my society of other strands.
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