Monday, August 4, 2014

From a Distance, Faintly


Around the bend of a new day's expiration
All your palette's colors are held in abeyance
As they unlearn the dreams our sponsors
Couldn't foster forever, much less entertain
In light of new performance standards—

The thing is to fake it until you forget it.
Even before the merry-go-round starts up again,
Gathering your thoughts pursuant to
A circular logic most days are too troubled
With noise to make room for, you begin to see

The error of your ways as it crawls along
Ahead of a shy, stiff breeze bearing secrets
Relatable in their candor. No wonder it
Feels like home (or better yet, a hotel)
When in the course of a coy unraveling

You awaken the infinite in a sneak attack,
Poised to milk its magic to bridge the gap
Between good conscience and good riddance—
Only to find the approach impassable.
Passing anyway, you feel pure, like a mock trial.