and the can is stuck to our shoes.
I lost something,
and it is not coming back.
I spent the time
and then the ghost ran away.
Fleshy pink digits sifting sand,
the lifeless aftertones of words that were wasted.
colors muted, November swoons.
leaves burst into yellow circles on the grass.
Trees. Shattered light bulbs standing in place.
The ground has lost its charge.
This imminent gloom
comforts me. I can see it, so I know it has an end.
and hopefully,joy is coming soon.