Thursday at 3 PM
It all hits one weary spin
The puddles swallow the shoes
Expecting nothing less
It's hard to confine in being shy your whole life
Rivers spit out the fish on land
Derelict, bouncing around on the old women's front porch
Feed in
Rumination is flared
Rashes cover sunken bags
Thursday at 3 PM
Rumination is flared
The sparkle in your smile grows to luminous
Glaring until little holes start to form
Pupil expands on a nightstand
But it's just all about feeding
Feed in