are the footfalls deluded by haste.
with the sunshine,
pass due date.
Illegal rummage sales among watercolors from an artist on the take.
Loosing chase with overcast informer.
Longing for the finish-line.
About doing the poor woman’s time.
In the back of my mind…I have been tone down before.
Shade shackled at my crow’s-feet.
A burden of defeat?
Anxiety cupped in a blurred retreat.
Acid washed and hung-out to dry.
The running has to stop.
On glory days,
a pledge of allegiance to the boozy haze.
Visions of illusions,
I wished were never severed.
Misadventures cut loose,
Lost direction has made its comeback.
And, it is animation that I lack.
From what the elders have told…
‘there is no cure for sobriety growing old.’
Just parchment pieces of parched reprieve…hand rolled.