there once was a beer named Corona
preferred by the youth with ‘persona’
they drank it with pride
but today they would hide
delight  has turned into a moaner

the days of the week
have lost their shapes
they are now septuplets
difficult to keep apart
melting into each other

an endless loop

mornings
     afternoons
                  nights
mornings
     afternoons
                   nights …

difficult to track time
clocks run in circles
history morphs to perpetual now

only the weather changes
nature remains unimpressed
      by our problems

have I ever imagined
I would enter a bank
masked
asking for money

to reach out
be aware

make yourself available
offer your hand

be open to plight
be open to pain

write your words
but remember the poor.

theme, flow, running through
a poem, discourse, points of view.