tired

Where is your job? what color is the fox tail you dreamt of last night?
It finally hit me, she's gone. She's walking around the city
with my spoiled nephew in his billion dollar shoes and she
doesn't give a sugar about the taste of my name in her mouth now.
All dolled-up for the free-lunch seminar, with make-up
and balloon throwers to enthrone the flower-wilting voices
they conjure from icelandic gestures. Give in or get out.
remove your hat and wake your prim-rose cauliflower nose
to the beauty of this deadened-leaf autumn mourning.
the dog walkers are out in full sprint, climbing the streets
like they're about to miss the parade, but it feels more like
running from the apocalypse, just an altogether useless venture.