They think about the burning house,
and the bus ride where they
scared each other on accident.
They poured into the building
over top the paved sidewalk
that was surrounded by
mud made by the rain
in all its laughter.
Ugly paintings become regretful
reminders and age to look much
worse over time.
The same is true of the lines
they stood in, with their shoes
saturated by the frost on the grass.
The metal gutters dented by the
falling hail, make so much
fucking noise it wakes the sleeping.

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