writhing worms below
the latex plant seeping down the street
middle fingers thrown from cars
dried blood stained to the pieces of glass on the back porch
hissing of static on a channel that doesn't come in clear
grey ashes collected in the Muskoka glass and brown burn trails on the side
my thin wallet and the bent edges of protruding medical cards
the police lights pouring in through the tiny window winding around the room
old Chinese food sticking to blue patterned plates
a corner cobweb swaying in the thick current from the space heater
I put my sweatshirt back on today. It was a nice day, but it wasn't as nice as yesterday. Tomorrow won't be as nice as today.
I looked in the mirror today. I looked nice today, but I didn't look as nice as I did yesterday. Tomorrow I won't look as nice as I did today.