Blurring genres of here-now
What plays in my car?
In my head?
In my head in my car?
Drunk drove through my own windshield
Oh to quench the tap
Speaking of which,
The sky emptied itself
into my self-swimming pool
I am the bugs
Bloated, swirling in the filter
under the weight of their empty sky
Dreaming of what could be there
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Congratulations on making it to the finish line!
ReplyDeleteI've never made it through the first week.