slippery trail

one morning
i was tailing a
big trash truck
tossing
bits of slips
from it's large,
open mouth
as the blaring sun
turned a hotter yellow
and
the
unknown of what
was or wasn't written
on this
non-stop trail
of paper slips
flopping up,
and out into
the
pang of
sky
that
is
going
to
never
leave
my
mind
as
the
story
has
written,
and the song
sung,
while
the
trash truck
makes a left,
and i
continue
straight,
foot on pedal harder,
as the world
begins going quicker
in
a flurry
of
almost forgettable
notes.