Free verse № 3696
Canned Laughter
The jest runs dry.
Can't dispute with deserts,
you know?
Merciless in beating
brows.
Forced sweat, cold in clenching
palm upon palm,
constricting passages.
Knees hit floor and it
drains,
resolve
seeps into
earth and
fertilises
seed of mirth.
Waiting for a tree takes
forever though.
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