Found it in the gutter
Almost turquoise,
Rain-soaked, oil-stained,
Smelled like the street,
Kept it in the car, weeks gone stale,
Didn’t mind, no wool, just good vibes.
Synthetic, plastic sheen,
Still held that energy—
The kind you pick up from the right places,
Those spots humming with knowing.
Balancing, edge-walking,
Like a seal on a ball,
Like Chaplin falling and catching,
Riding gravity like a wave—
Nimble, precarious,
Batteries running low, still moving.
