Monday, March 21st - "Sky Lights"

Another living cliché – a poet

watching the sunset dreamily.

I want to ask, “Haven't

you ever read Baudrillard?

Don't you know it's all spectacle?”

Instead, I bury my hands

in the pockets of my jeans,

look over my shoulder at the pub

advertising half-price drinks

for anyone willing to trade dignity

for another chance at glory.

Without our verses, songs

will still be sung, measurements taken,

dreams transformed into art.

Shoulders rubbed against each other

until sparks explode. I forget

to put on my black shawl: I am still

in mourning for the words this scene
will never inspire me to pen.