Month ending, out they come,
Streets dotted with pale monoliths.
We walk among them as pagans,
Between their standing stones,
Magical meaning long forgotten,
no enlightenment to be revealed.
Swathed in plastic, sealing in,
Dreams, some lost, bitter tears,
Release, exhaustion, books half read.
Guarded by rumors of the uninvited,
Biting interlopers who have lost
the decency to leave when asked.
Suddenly, the mattresses are gone.
Pity, an equinox is almost here.
THAT IS BEAUTIFUL!
It really is. I now have a new appreciation for these entities, even the ones that have been around for months
In the words of my deceased roommate:"Did you ever see a mattress without a stain on it?"
@SD Yes. Mine. And that's after most of the men in Manhattan have been on it. ;)
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