Between the laugh lines
Among the discarded toys
Hidden in the crevices
Plastic bags in the pantry
The weight of it ripping through
A cacophony of morning bells
A foghorn marking the sunrise
The smell of fried foods
from nextdoor
The cook’s a nice bloke
but I don’t him well
We’ll never know
one Tuesday
from the next, but
we’ll remember these songs
We’ll never know
the length of a city sunrise
between the crowded houses, but
we’ll remember how it crept in
(dtn)
A life of we 