there is lint in my wallet
and the doors are wide open
the flies are all sleeping
but the spiders are still in pursuit
the laundry is soaking wet
and yet folded neatly and put away

winter is on its way
and the townsfolk are scrambling
tidying their respective messes
made by the long
and damp summer

time continues to chug along
a constant freight
perpetual weight
even when you feel like
the only working gear left
is reverse