this shivering caravan

                            reeks of rum,

shadows smear an atlas

                    on a pillowcase

 

         idly silhouetting a rabbit

           on the masonite wall,

    iced-over scraps

on the laminex splashback

 

grey nomad buys clairol -

              the future looks bright

 

o        only a cold front 

 

                      is oblivion dark ?

 

come here for a moment,

                         sit and regard,

    gape at the landscape

                        we'll never inhabit

 

en plein air

          is so much a sinkhole,

nowhere so zen

                   as some other place

 

who changed 'the proposal'

                   into 'the dream' ?

I never said 

     'I'm living the plan'

 

I've already been sideswiped

                   and I was here last

 

my cup's white interior

              tarnished by tannin,

  readers of teacups

                  expended by tea bags

 

such a dreamy hiatus

                    o       only a cold front

 

copying a trance

            is too difficult to do,

   sun on shut eye -

            deep eggy red orange

 

but pocket some wisdom

              when winter arrives

the grey sheen of sleet

              will cleanse us like windex