Morning begum aplomb
In a cold toilet
Oil bath with newspaper
Winter sun's grand ardour
Close shave, brunch heavy on hope
Least wish fine tuned, composed
Knowing well my wallet lovely
Has bills, scraps but no money
I loiter about aimlessly
Avenues unnecessary
Retire to a green park
Roads about, concrete
All resolves now done in
I withdraw quiet, far recede
To blue skies, drowse sweet
But the sun grows so near, on me
Like an iron gong, harsh sounding
For my discontent to rush in
With illusions, its nothings.
Images, thoughts, since turn stale
I inhale the dust, the polluted air
Tap water sludged, claustrophobic
Eyes tired burn, sweat dripping
As deluxe automobiles pass by
And park before houses fine
Like icons, attractive but
Strange to mind, lack lustre.
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