outside the library / watching streets

much ado
about everything
overcome with an
overwhelming desire
to be the
saturated brightness
in someone’s damp
false start of a
spring day against
skies like cement
(wet, grey)
and wall, concrete too
chafed by neglect
and the elements.
and i, a pink-clad
lone dervish
spinning with the control
of one who has long ago
surrendered all sense
of control
there is no indignity
as the rain falls
only chances taken
and lost to the southerly wind

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Basically, I deal in words.

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