Wood grain suspenders on beams of unattractive thought grasp paper cups holding the morning’s coffee just outside of smudged glass reflecting off of these prison walls in the heart of the shopping district, where everything is on sale and yet nothing is to be sold
as shoppers take advantage of nap time…and still I sit
Clinging to every hope a mind can cling to, shadowed by my beliefs that it doesn’t matter when grays pull years out of youthful smiles wearing ties, for no good reason and wasted breaths fall from hapless dreams caving in on the summit where asphalt spills and curb side deliveries melt
rolling down the window to nothing…and still I sit
Limestone pillars stand guard in fours, Cozying up to attached railings painted to match, but don’t where empty tissue boxes wear a gaping mouth of perforated edges, yawning with all of the enthusiasm of an Japanese translator at a Metallica concert trying to sing opera in verses… Collected but unseen or spoken of in black and white words
flickering and waiting a review…and still I sit
Poetry gathers in corners like food crumbs beneath the fridge, hidden in the dark until the tile floor is replaced as small piles of words are sifted through but not taken for the sunlight changes everything and this is not as cloudy a day as was forecasted, though the gloom still exists
scribbling non-stop while leaving… and still I sit