Cool crater cascading down
This waterfall of hopeful infamy.
I wait for the red light to turn green,
Thinking of routine in a seven day order.

First thought. Best thought.
Love from her couldn't be bought.
A train. A lie.
The sun burns and yet was never taught.

An apple in her eye behind light blue spectacles.
She wishes for mediocre praise.
A laugh. A sigh. A sip of wine. Forgotten.
Brooklyn based never granted grace.

And though I tell myself the grass is brighter,
Green, lusher, plusher, holier on the other side,
I know that it is not.
The lies we tell ourselves to keep on living.

Everything eventually stinks.
Everything can burn.
Everything must age.
Everything has its

Beginning
Middle
And

End.