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Porch
Distant rushing traffic
Spinning jet turbines
The low rumble and soft whistle
Metal tube squealing in a steel vacuum
Peppered by drops of ominous precipitation
Rain unconvinced it should've fallen in
the first place
GuaCarole-green leaves of some common
urban tree
Limbs sway listlessly in a breeze equally
lacking conviction
Afternoon dew clings to the edges
Globular microcosms rage against single-cell
chaos
Eventually overcome by their own weight
Plummet to grass