Enveloped and adorned
there’s a place to be mourned
where scarecrows salute the dawn
and I’m older.
Tangible and rigid
the lights are our limit
where my fingertips are frigid
and it’s colder.
It is better here or worse
without money in your purse
or the finite, pulsing curse
but we’re bolder.
Life in a cough of memory
where all that mattered was you and me
where we danced and sang with glee
or so he told ya.
Vast Imbecility 