Ross Liskov- A Poem

to-do list

street littered with bottle caps

maybe they fell from the soft grey clouds

you can roam the streets of small towns

all yr life and not get anywhere

but where is there to get to?

the parking meters never go anywhere

they seem happy enough

the clouds are going somewhere and nowhere

at the same time

so what difference does it make?

might as well sit on a green bench

and drink the nectar of yr own nothingness.