The constabulary walls, to and fro
But that’s all just ex post facto guilt masking as self-concern. Here we go.
Obsidian flakes glitter, the clear sound of a shovel full of dirt landing and scattering
Over a freshly taken shit.
Moments later, amidst stream gurgle and tree sway,
One foot placed in front of the other
Plastic grocery bag holding raisins &
Peanut butter & banana sandwiches a pendulum
Swinging against the pack in
Placid rhythm. Sunny now. Hail will
Come soon I bet.