The clouds tonight are racing by, like a time-lapse in motion—making me feel so slow that I simply stop.
But tonight trash cans are scarce. I walk on, bag in hand, until the garbage takes root, blossoms, grows lush, and offers shade to future generations.
The trash feeds on my nutrients, while I become its garbage.
By now, does the garbage even know who it is anymore?
Clang. Off you go, sweet dreams.
