Upon a canvass gold,
rinse strokes of dappled rose,
pour into a tidal coast
to end with a radiant bow.
But then the looking glass
tips over, and cracks
into a splintering splendor
a kaleidoscopic dazzle
dashing a prickly glow
which spots the sidewalk's grey
but fails to stretch beyond,
where heavy clouds like white-out
away a brooding night...
And flanking mounds of
rock and flora
cradle a town awake,
as party music thinly zaps
the air alive --
already warmed by booze and fights
and briefly joined
by circling sirens
severing darkness.
For it lets loose
that which none would conquer;
and with each truce
the battle is further
tinged with
a sunset-futility
of resent and despair
softly put away
in a busy sand-box
of children and spades
oblivious
to a live tape replay.
And through that glass again,
(a simple shard forsaken)
an arm outstretched in vain
seems trivial in reflection.
For when dawn threatens,
fraught with change and brilliance--
it is dyed a luxurious green
through this fragment of dreams,
of a beer disposed
to frantic smithereens;
Where a town tranquil
With boisterous rancor
Struggles again from its stupor
(Only to await the next slumber)
Forgetting to look at the drapes overhead
Carelessly splashed
Where few remembered to live
beyond the consolidated hue
of reprieve
from glass and pain, past and stains
But if sight is finally lost
on souls tired and worn;
then please,
paint a sober defeat
