Dust motes float
‘Cross bubbly glass
Streaked with
Memories
Lost to tribes
of Hoarding
Hoboes, all searching for
Jobs they claim
Keep them from
Robbin’—
“Oh, the red, red robin,
goes bob-bob-bobbin’ along
‘Cross the peaks of
Atlantis, and
National Union, he can’t even
Grab an onion.
Neon streaks in
dirty rain…
Until they fade,
S’pose we gotta go
Thru more endless
Joy and Pain!