(...better than your cell phone’s“can you hear me now?”...)
suddenly walking ruins shoes, driving turns weary chore, it’s
all souls / machines can do keeping rubber feet / wheels moving
simply getting home, housed, parked, finding anywhere dry,
accepting anything, settling, seeking temporary cover like
poor tired refugees, huddled under square box umbrellas
with fogged windows, streaked panes: our world’s eyes,
distorted from unwanted tears, saltlessly wondering why
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