Not Art
by anxiousmove
· 06/12/2025
Published 06/12/2025 14:02
It’s not a ghost or a floating dance.
It’s high-density polyethylene snagged
on a rusted wire fence, by chance,
looking like something the cat dragged.
It flaps like a wet, translucent lung
against the gray and winter mud.
I remember when the lie was sung
about beauty being in the blood
of garbage. But it’s just a skin,
a shredded mess that won't decay.
It’s the hollow sound of coming in
and having nothing left to say.