some conglomerate of collected residue
leftover from the weekend and our lives
a dream of a pile of Sunday papers
some aftermath of history
it's a folly of misguided intentions,
heart palpations from caffeine intoxication
it's a relief from falling numbers
it's being punched in the face
over and over
and drowning your face in
ice cold water
It is anger at circumstances
and submission to servitude
Pressed Dockers
a throwback to salvation
and societal acceptance
It is crying under the overcast skies
while the crows caw on the tangled
telephone wires overhead
it's "despair" graffiti'd
on the downward slopes
of the skate park ramp
It is getting back in the ring
and ready to fight
when the bell
dings
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