may I never bow,
kowtow,
do the jig that’s expected of me,
a wind-up toy,
the good native who knows just how to act, talk,
how to be
may I never bow,
kowtow,
do the jig that’s expected of me,
a wind-up toy,
the good native who knows just how to act, talk,
how to be
beyond words,
mere paltry scribbled verse,
rolls across empty streets,
while today crawls to a fade,
as night descends,
offering comfort,
the solace of anonymous shade …
sweeping the remnants of bygone yesterdays,
under the carpet,
festering,
stewing,
mutating,
time scampers,
whispering lullabies,
teasing slumber,
surrendering to the night,
embracing the cocoon of the dark,
shedding the detritus of the now,
soothing and gentle as the softly departing light …