Living In Their Drain

The day has cooled, into a recliner muddied. Rinse it off...replenish...repeat mud sloughs off into somebody else's drain. That's ok because I'm clean again. Recycling this mud of the mind into porcelain, attic spiders entwined. Scrap and scrimp. Grow fat again swing the battle axe of id growing thin. Toss red flowers on mother's grave... what color was her eyes? I've forgotten the color of the sky The same color as a messy demise? it doesn't matter-anyway. Move along stagnant doesn't fit my cup. Movement is life-stillness is death. but there are exceptions...I've seen zombies...stumbling along. I've seen still (ponds) explode into stars (confused) bloodied...rinse...repeat... living in their drain.