I queue
do you?

There's a line quite fine
elongates in time
and always someone
to cross it.

Central to being
the core's what I'm
seeing,
melting.

Life is
dealt in spades
in order to dig
our own graves.

I live only in waking dreams
where an apology seems
inadequate
and
decorum
is a parquet floor
I walk on
glide on
wish someone would give me
a ride on
their flying carpet.