Constant familiar sound of the moving cars through the window
Remnants of a rainfall dripping from the eave
Follow the ordinary with a deliberate outtake
I get off at Chesterfield Road
Looking for stories in the street signs
It don’t have to be a poem but it’s gotta be poetic
Wax poetic, wane prose
Consider what you value
Now change it
Left with birthdays to acknowledge people you used to know
Live in the absurdity, but leave it unexamined
The visions are gone
Televisions left on
The sound turned down
So I can think
I hate the idea that someone else is cleverer than me
I only want to be the best at hanging out
Chesterfield