Lone Strand of Brunette


I dangle off the edge
of white, ceramic cliff;

no breeze
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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