The city changes its skin 

Like snakes in the summer

Shedding old posters

Onto the jagged pavement -

Tattered papers posing

Like lace trimming on the 

Weary contours of 

Corner shops clinging

To their regulars. 

 

It is still outside

But something is bubbling

Beneath the dirty mantle,

Cardboard boxes stacked

Imperfectly on sidewalks -

Chaos seeping

Through the cracks.

Torn and ragged ends 

that cause paper cuts,

and other agents of

disharmony in the daily

Rhythm. 

 

The winds are blowing in

Different directions

Wailing to the masses

Shuttered behind prisms

While teddy bears

Seated at the sills

Sing “all is well”

Into the din 

Can you hear them?

Sounding out like children

Against the bedlam,

Little reminders of shelter

In a place of discord. 

 

I search for a familiar order

In the scattered spontaneity

Of poppies growing 

Along the part of town

Where the sun shines. 

I remember the fog

running away to the 

bashful coasts 

And the daily two-step

Between the light

And the buildings 

Deceivingly basic

But lined with

Silver complexities. 

 

I breathe my own exhales

These days, and

Hide my frowns behind

Crumpled cloths -

The kind that line

The streets like

Little white flags

Tumbling senselessly

Against this mad,

Mad world.