misconnected flare signals. traffic akimbo.
awash with guilt and buyer's remorse.
porch-bound tourists
see the grid go ahead and lock itself.
never willing to look the neighbors
in their eyes.
fueled by batter and an enterprising
sense of propriety.
anything and everything will be fried.
what do we wait
for, out here? out there?
where to?
my misgivings from the crunch
and disbursements of flavor profile
too good
to deny. my own
bashful denials come
in rushes of blood to
the offending pieces of me:
heart and mind.
we will wait.
we are full and drunk
on power. soon direction
will be given and the wave
will crest and we will be
gifted movement.
soon we will know our
fullness.
