where reflections of prosperity
slink by like burglars.
The shadow of reason fall from my grace,
pooling into a pulp not quit edible -
The reflecting pool evaporates the nearer
Eyes, in winter, grey over
and cocoon into a shielded mass
impregnable to the passing predator.
My cocoon or orange and red,
similar to mt butterfly,
is as transparent as the mendacity of these lines.
I am mundane in my leanings and guilty
of the pursuits of weakness and redress.
"Seek not entertainment" is the motto
of the languishing tides - which will mark my wanderings
and offer their own form of punishment.
Reports fall from heaven and paper cuts
multiply in force. I cannot bleed
and refill the ever-lessening pool.
Nor can I swim.