There's a pale blue sock
lying limp like a cliche
the sort of obtrusive object
that the camera will inevitably pan to
I'm loathe to move it
to break whatever movie magic
binds it to that sea of red
for the next few frames of this reel
Because it will be moved
when the director calls cut
and the apartment is put back together
forgotten objects will find a place
For now though it remains
for one beat in an endless conversation
it speaks as honestly as it can
a cliche carrying some simple truth
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