Sunday, November 1, 2015

A crumpled piece of letter
Put out cigarette
Lone crown cap
Empty bottle
Used tissue
Each tells a story
Begging an audience
A story laying in wait
Broken in memories
Past and used
In transit, in the moment
Utility in the simplest and most underrated form
Waiting in silence
Picked up until none is left
Much like this instance
A fleeting reminder
Of a past written in present tense
Designed to last a lifetime in idle
We sit and wait
It comes. It goes.
Falling words become ashes that form beds
Straightened, clean, stained by coincidence.
Whatever happens in the morn of this man-made holiday, we are spent.

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