The Great Unrealistic
Ache
It was the summer of
I hate this one.
In which
the foggy details
became all too clear.
For the obscure
clarity = obscenity.
To the foggy, it was
never really that vague.
I looked out, did a
quick survey of the
landscape of
simmering wet
toilets that
pulsate (due to
my eyes’ over-
loaded blood-
veins) and
I thought,
“How cine-
matic!”
So caught
up in this
was I (I was!)
that .. long pause .. .. ..
Oh, what a blustery
day it is (Is it?).
It’s so
wound up that the
groundbreaking
ceremony for the
hardware store
that the neighbors
are building (the
ones who live in
the tiny room
that abuts our
garage) was
postponed
indefinitely.
