whispering sweetie and baby
to those possessed every night
fueled by wild turkey
dressed with a devastating smile
and a barricade against misery
fretting about the forever alone . . . alone .
getting ready for a picnic that never comes to be
for two decades the furniture is in the same spot
nothing moves. nothing changes
Can you confess who you are?
The massive emptiness eat away at
the festive picnic basket
all the flowered crosswalks fade
What used to be funny is transparent and ridiculous
The habitat of the glamorous is heated with coal and disgust.