is a dress, hanging
dripping wet, the drops
falling on the shoes
that haven't been worn yet.

The single strand of pearls
lost under the bed
the ones you stole off
of a corpse that wasn't quite dead.

The television that only has one viewer
at a time,
the girl on the corner always trying
to borrow a dime.

The old man in his yard
whittling on a stick,
the dead cat not far away,
that he pummeled with a brick.

That rose over there hanging on for dear life,
with only thorns
to protect it from
a pickers plight.

Loneliness are you lonely?
Do you need you only?

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