There are some who don’t care
for sophisticated moments of parting
through social or sexual demons.
Is it the erroneous impression
derived from the clarity and poise of the
breathlessly hot wind buried in a dead
tree stump ricocheted light
off the stangnant green pool
where Narcissus patiently stares?
A barfly overwhelmed
marbel chapel fidgeting
with his strange arrangement
of greasy coins complains
of faithlessness and secret signs.
Outside, a vast crowd rustles and wanders
unburied with sleepy wishes, everyone
missing their very excellent beds.