its wednesday
or thursday
or friday
or whatever
& tho acid blemished
in the threadbare patches
with pink shapes of sun
morning is a folded stack
of over-washed towels
gone no colour at all
& up in the tv skies
bent wires tremble
with obsolescence fury
in the wifi wind
morning is a folded stack
of over-washed towels
gone no colour at all
& up in the tv skies
bent wires tremble
with obsolescence fury
in the wifi wind
& the sentinel shingles
& the bitten pointing
who have seen it all
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