the idleness of yesterday
shall be
tomorrow’s getaway
the passage of a
familiar moment has you cajoled
into acceptance of the fishbowl
splattering drops of rain,
dribbling down faces
on the widow pane
eventually
purgatory outsold
the savage glint of gold
the loneliness
tries to console
tucked into a casserole
the old man looks at
the world still yearning for change
is long since estranged
to pine for the song of the red robin
to imagine the streets lined in azure
in a rush of wild hyacinth
somewhere lost in
a book of poems
are minutes of mayhem
