penitence

i find myself temperamentally unsuited to face the jeers and chuckles of
the whistling rabble, who, thumbs plucked from pocket tops they
precariously hang upon with the weight of those
broad, wind-catching shoulders that strike their positions, even as they
seamlessly blur into an unchecked pirouette with that uneasy diffidence
cursing us all, will offer up in way of a rhythm's return
these bland assertions,
quips that kill a room and strap my tongue from any its apt remarks,
in such a demonstration of the consequences plaguing those of a more
calculating mind befitting a young...I'm lost for a reference.

there is not much to be said for
the art that gets you by the daily
struggles and their empty
nests in
empty thoughts abide