nonsense. junk. part 17.

the days are unusually long with almost always nothing to do
moments that pass by are senseless like the stars that twinkle at a distance
for no particular reason at all, for no one, but they are the same stars -
that did make sense once upon a little while ago - a day or a week or a year before
the moments are just the same that now just refuse to pass on by
junk generation, memories made and nothing besides - pushes one from moment to moment
and at the end of the day when one turns around what is left behind is
only a back-yard filled with junk that refuse to disappear or to fade away
when sense makes no sense, when nonsense prevails as it did all one's life past
it's only the souls of the running shoes that wear out and
still the back-yard gathers more junk in pink and purple, blue and green