President Elect

President Elect

Los Angeles tilts
and its street signs shudder
but the sun still rises on November 9th.
The world does not end; instead
it resumes its business, reveals
it has been ending.

A street musician howls,
muted by the distance.
An old receipt flutters
, rises up, finds life
thanks to a breeze
we were too numb to feel.

Published by dreysleeps

I art and eat and draw and sleep and cry and rhyme. I consume too much pizza and—by all rights—should be dead, but I haven't gotten around to it. Procrastination saved my life.

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