One of my notions is that those public restroom drains,
So bronze and grated they appear to be industrious chains,
Should not, so seemingly, be the source of nostalgia's noxious exhast,
But mere mechanisms spaced forseeably apart unto a conformity's loss.
I should not be overwhelmed but that somehow
into their pipe dreams I would unfurl a brow,
Ambivalent of ever finding common ground,
or home where wooden picture frame memories make a belly round.
I don't understand why I should ever stop now,
Or sigh and suddenly be like, "Oh, wow...I was a dumb cow."
Instead I will find something lost in a momentary silence,
And continue with my attempts at a valence.
And get back to work, allowing the restroom door to wheeze shut.
2006-12-15
08:16:32
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9 answers
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asked by
storm_eagle81
1
in
Arts & Humanities
➔ Other - Arts & Humanities