Precious Moments On Strangers

In flaming disdain
And just because you can
Maybe you shouldn't
Eyes gone sallow

All reminders of faces
Slack and hanging
Those visions of staying on lift
Without purpose and glint

Before I go I may be reminded
Of something plain as pan
A Cuban loafing where it wouldn't
Golden crusted and virtually hollow

But here on a heap of wet cloud
With lazy graces and hinged doors banging
Each moment is a rotten little gift
Exciting at first, then offering up only lint
--
7.23.10