The world has lost her edges,
As though viewed through thick glass
Shatters – glass dust – the merest drizzle;
The clouds of a thursday that will never know light –
Implying what may or may not be the sun,
My thoughts, today.
Those birds are inappropriate,
And the roses will not stop their clatter.
Each part and participle
Violently object to everything.
The unceasing moo of the girl I detest
Is the only music within me today.
I stare, uncomprehending, then rise and walk away.
I am not quite alive enough to worry if she is offended.
©2014 by Tyler J. Yoder. All rights reserved
This poem, and others like it, are available in Patchwork Narrative, a slim volume of poetry by Tyler J. Yoder.