Lilac and Nicotine

My dogs pissed on my bed. Twice this week.

Monday morning. The laundry code doesn’t work.

Coffee stain on my shirt two hours into the day as I drive to an interview.

I see men on the way to work staring at the clock or the glare on the clock,

Men who found glory on a hot sidewalk in jeans and sandles,

With nicotine sprayed in their hair and the wrinkles of time sag

around their cheeks,

And the dogs lost their laughter much like their owners,

The clouds rose yet again to block the sun,

The strings on your guitar have snapped,

The piano hums, the drum skips,

The lilac withers into dryness and

The water you feed it is corrupt.

The rain we savor is filtered through smoke and fire,

The cats are no longer certain about their nine lives and

The crows no longer cackle at the dead and

Hyenas avoid the shadows and the fish dive up onto land,

The snakes wish to run and

Angels wish to live with loved ones yet again.

Sinners wish for something holy and hollow,

Opportunists dream of rest and

Our children no longer dream.

End your sight and collapse into the network of your daydreams and

Watch the angels sing again!