Side worn glances draw the skin pale. Half dressed inferences hooked on a nail.
Spiteful nostalgia picked from the nose, of Tom Waits while holding a rose.
Serpentary train of thought, inevitably back to the same spot.

Revert to responsibilities of old, and return to reveries told.

Spectrums of light tumble blindly, refracting in through open panes,
     Opaque shadows cast from blind spots left by stains.

Trying to be poetic for poetry’s sake, resolute in resolve, discovered as a fake.
The lexicon’s been tossed aside, for depressive angst most should hide.
Tachyons convolute the art, allowing the removal of heart.

Starry skies stripped of worth, sanitized sacrilege straight from birth.

Tentative steps, pushing the precursor forward as the floe begins to melt,
   Nudge the idol in, and return to shore without talent, but svelte.