All I see is the beauty
Of the universe:
Perfectly formed potholes
The squish of a slug on the walk to work
Petrol stations, neon, one after another
Pay slips, unopened and yet spent
High heels, heels too high to be worn
Extra large condoms lingering on the chemist shelf
The early morning red glow of alarm clock digits.
The beauty sings,
Somehow.
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