The Lint Basket

in the dryer,
my garments tumble around
with coins and shards of kleenex
and other remnants of me.
with a twinge of sadness,
i collect the cotton detritus
from the lint screen
and throw it into a dryer basket.
the hoary lint is asleep,
dreaming of becoming.
random threads of blue,
always full of end,
climb skyward with every load.
i am hypnotized by
the slow-burn jazz of my clothes
falling apart
one note at a time

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