a tiny white flag
shakes
in the wind,
underneath
the empty storefront
awning.
the streetlight only
gives a purpose
to this scene.
a streetlight will never lie,
it'll just interpret
whatever the day has left behind.
i witness this,
on my green camping chair,
within my bedroom,
that i have deemed a nest,
just for this evening.
it's a quarter to four
on this wednesday morning,
and that goddamn streetlight
won't leave me alone,
like i'm nothing more
than a moth.
the tiny white flag is still there,
and right now
i just don't have a big enough ladder
to take it down.
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