open office

poor lonely one eyes plastered to the dusken sky as if that murky watercolor might want to hold hands delicate replicas that they are- like bottled still forest air, and still- it pines spread eagle in an artificial twilight in cassette tape dreams at the edge of night somewhere there the tapes that the multitudes burned once again slinging love songs like dope down the old lonely night another old lonely night delicate replica tears somehow moreso shimmer to the crackle of an old love song rendered indecipherable with age but somehow it leaks like wine leaks along cracks in the hardwood floor against the conductor where he stares up into the pews and the silence becomes the audience itself, the poor lonely thing lain out like a purple stain, as if a cheap water colored replica