Trash is not just the crumpled yellow wrapper, or the rusting can of spam, or the broken bike
It is the discarded looks, the views
This one, this bitch takes a can and runs her nose deep inside it, removing the last of the spaghetti sauce
Two others hump in the shadows behind an alleyway
[is it love]
The carbon in that cigarette is the same carbon as the carbon in your diamond studded earring. It is flicked away. Bouncing on the pavement in a show of Sparks- [those fireworks from last summer over the lake, this one a puddle]
Those discarded moments littering the trail behind us, an oil slick we leave on the dark open sea
Here the channel narrows
‘Junk’ has an impact, a lost moment of time an un-extended hand. Hardness a frown..
Running down a street And into a white building..they’re short on something a patient leaps up from bed and gasps like a fish out of water
Two spin on thousand dollar shoes and run for it ..
The absence and the unadapted tendencies aggregating, eddying into a drain..they’re gone from the room
[but stay in my brain ..uneraseable by any molecule]
Its morning. She’ll take another piece of trash and make a necklace out of it..hold it up to the light make it outshine all the rest.
Pitiful. There’s a string of Japanese pearls right next to her..but she could care less about those. This trash (about her) is bulkier and its shiny. There is no value to her in things beyond a moment. But, she leaves no wake behind.

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