The moon hangs, bright
like a neon banana.
Fat and ripe in the
moody black of
late evening.
My reflection
smiles softly from the
window, gently mocking me
and my foolish confusion.
Minutes tick slowly past me like
lazy tumble weeds high
on molasses and turpentine...
...and somehow or another
through the muck, and
through the mud, I feel
alright as though
maybe I just may
survive it all.

AcB 2.21.99