Those dark corners that the light never sees
Find solace in their own dankness.
Most nuances, as in faces, are…
(Although we love to think that they are).
That fractional corner of a mirror,
Reflecting some old moon
Through half-drunk winking wine glasses
And barely smoking cigarettes
In barely full ashtrays
Smouldering away against the wind
Against life, against the current.
When devolved into delirium, we seek solace in symmetry. – mh clay