tiny orange blossoms
in withered repose
bob merrily on
the tepid wind where
the future rots
in stagnant refrain
the dessicated beauty
bathed in painprisms
shying away from my
ungulating staccato
unable to fathom
the misdirected attention
of wolves dressed as
sheep pretending to
be world weary souls
long domesticated
with feral toothy grins

i surf
concrete waves
where rebar stabs
angrily upward
the rusted bones
of dire consequence
cutting the hull
of my sinking ship
spiralling
downdowndown into
the roaring open sewer
of last week’s rainfall