Wont To Go

This morning offered another blank sheet of paper,

empty as any world could bleach to,

flat,

two-dimensional, sharp edged…

ready to fill.

The wary play safe

and add depth to a new day with song

or an articulate paint-brush

or,

perhaps,

just wrap their dead fish,

pre-disposal.

At noon,

our city bustled.

I bustled not,

though sun smiled overhead

like a politician with

fingers crossed behind its back.

Folks will promise

‘life goes on’

but,

for what reason?

they don’t seem to know,

that some have nothing,

some nothing to complain of,

also.

A shade-tree beckons

sublime,

it’s very near the time,

I guess that I’m

wont

to go.