Crash baby, the new recruits have arrived.

Along one road traipses the always stubborn and solitary

man; he has seen the truth and turned away.

Otherwise, many more would have seen it and crowed.

This is the fashion: frugal and far-off.

I am always this diurnal.

I forget what I was going to say.

Nothing is best in times as sad as these.

I stick to the motivation that begot us

and thus am willing to talk.

Bright beaches looped away

into playgrounds and the dark.

Comfort me with excess hilarity.

Moss grows in the lamplight,

an aphorism hems me in.

I would be glad to die for the old folks

but they don’t seem to want it.

Fine, this will be for our later days

no sorehead will sully. Going back a bit

it looks as though fish inhabit that aquarium.

The afternoon density has closed again.

Children in patches return from school;

the candy striped school bus stops at the intersection.

People are tactful and talkative.

The car sees what is coming,

what a great burden has been lifted from its head.

Some wish it. Many are calm.

We feed the birds against an office rainy afternoon.

All the phones are tapped.

The chord desires resolution.