friday morning
grey and open ended
with a chance of rain
or was it
a chance of rhyme
three words set against the wind
and spent
divining hollow spirits

devoid of the game
magick is married to mania
and dreams are just
forgotten fantasies,
cigarettes burned low
in another lonely morning

no wild dogs today
no birds
just
dull traffic lights
and runny faces
staring out captured windows

purging a purple deception
how do we
continue to create life
in this fast
and empty world?