There’s a motif for rent
When draining season arrives
And all must go
Please cursor the floor
I won’t be there when you do
For I'm stuck above the attic
Vying with the crows
They tell my place is elsewhere
I don't remonstrate that stance
But it's all so ethereal
What they blindly sought
In their endless reveries
Like a cirrus bleeding down
A vagrant slumber party

In a skyscraper
The rich pig squeals

I flutter backwards

I ride the draft
And imagine 3 or 4 ways
To drop into the ocean
And sink until its hands
Whisper an ennui release
Or maybe a promenade
Where my silence will really be heard
Maybe even patina'd on

Screams of terror
The exultation of epiphany
And maybe there'll be no sale
After all
All semaphore lie prostrate
In the attic they’re in
And I live alone
After all
There's a phone
Void of transmission
After all
After oceans roll
After muscles heal
After all I see
Is a life too far ahead of itself
Slapping splintered signs
I've yet to scrawl
To dance above
In a valley of caveats
And a garden of emptors