Air Loss
The paper bags on the
live edge table are surrounded
by faded roses, turning
pink to brown in humid air;
I look to the weeds growing
defiant of concrete patches
across the road,
stronger than those things well-loved.
On a hollow bark stage
in life I felt the
wounds of desire,
ghostly sheets trailing in time;
The balmy hypnosis of summer
lawns in front of the BBC broadcast
castle, where a sparkle shone over
every avenue I could travel down;
I turn blue from the altitude.
My wife sends me a picture of
a Holstein cow, a mental health
slogan, an unchallenging affirmation.
The breeze catches again, petals
strewn across floor, ready
for a sweeping hunt of time,
stealing the new moon from sky.
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