Bad Poetry

 
A morning breakfast, eat.
Cup of coffee, remind me:
Gone are the nights of Thai food gas
And a million sensations
of beer-soaked imaginations
Flying cards and towers of glass
Camraderie between relations
Man the stations, our creations
Frozen images show us patience
A river has divided then and now

Now there's a mirror and a comb
A million tiny hairs returning home
And thick, grey clouds on the fly
an ocean-blown breeze across a clear blue sky.
Ducks on water and boats on glass
Tadpoles swam just beyond our grasp.
Here's a Singer sewer and Tom Waits
and two days from our departure gates.

And books
so many books
a piano
a gazebo
bad poetry and
a speeding clock