Wrinkles come at once

Like a wrinkle

Tired

Eyes like sinking ships

Death of life

Not death

But sagging

The wild

Is taking a leave of absence

With a collection of fine pillows

And distractions.


With out dirrection

Only an endless horizon

With tumble weed

And distractions.

Hope has pale pink hands

Almost white

But not quite

Not quitting

Just groping in the air

Hope so hopeless

Nobody cares about the loser

He could lose her

If the ogre was not there

On the eye of Jupiter

He has his pale pink hands

Wrapped around her.