Nothing has to be ugly.
Luck of the dumb is a casual thing. It gathers its beauty in plain regard. Animus, not inspiration, lets us go among the flocks and crows crowded around the railroad ties. Our lives could be a casual thing, a reed among the charlatan drones, a rooted blade, a compass that wields a clubfoot round and round, drawing fairy circles in clumps of sand. Irritate a simple sky and stars fill up the hemispheres.