Nothing in the blank sky
where there should be jugglers
unicycles and blind snowmen.
Go inside to stand on the head
blinds across the sun as it sets
mold inspires the tussic tongue.
At the coffee shop crepes
couples electronically flirting
no hurt in sight.
Blase’ today like traffic
sun setting on poetry writing
lines of plastic, colors hiding.
The only items at the bookstore
were titles not to read but laugh at
thought up in elevators.
Centrifuges dreaming of lead
black hole sensors cued to screams
years ago I spread my wings.
The answer came to mind
like winter, finally, in the new year
fill it all up by yourself.