A Vase Called Memory

Thu, 01/28/2016 - 13:39 -- mxiao

Somewhere

in the oversized jail cell of my mind

something is pinging.

 

A fly

alights on the windowsill

among the carcasses of its brethren.

 

Someone

is working overtime

in the blue light of a computer.

 

A mural

is etched into the kind concrete

underneath the bed.

 

Somehow

the neighbor has acquired playing cards

and is slapping them on the floor.

 

And

in the corner

a vase is collecting raindrops.

 

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