I wish I had a working camera, Or an easier life

And a small dog whose hair is long enough to braid

bows and all

She's become a soulless city

And on hot days when there's nothing to do, She wanders through the parts of herself

She hasn't seen yet

The people who live here barely speak

Their mother tongue

And if you speak to them, they return with blank stares

After we're done with our dinner We waltz-on down the hill,

Our path illuminated by the storm a few towns over,

We end up on the dock and I complain about how cold it is.

The lightning lasts all night, and the downpour never comes.