It’s there somewhere

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)

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