Its skin streaked with rain and soil, bows beneath just a few drops of water grateful for even that small sip. Its stem, a little bent, its face still golden. And in that gesture, I saw the grace of needing little but receiving fully.
i'm standing in the rain and every drop that hits me is a detail of my life utterly random some smack me, some miss me and that's my life i'm soaked in accidental events
I slump into an armchair Feet drooping down And sprawl onto the carpet Watch the dust float around I have no place to go Nothing to do No faces to see Nothing is new Boredom is as human does Sun wearily crosses the sky above I'm stuck with a fly and a ticking clock Too leaden to move, much less to walk And even the aforementioned dust Has more to do than I.