168/365 : magic remains

this washcloth is wet and sloppy
not even warm and soapy

but still, i will take it to the wall
take it to the soot
take it to the past

i will rub and grunt and
gasp

i will give up
too fast

i will fall over onto my cushy bed
brow full of sweat

i will not chase
a clean slate

i will not retaliate
against the dirt of fate

i will study the wall for magic shapes
made of the remains