Mistrust is easy in
this weather
And I reckon the
landscape will remain the same
For say the next 20
years
Going away is an option
but it fails to reinvent
Itself. My mirror is shoddy
for it has known
Perspectives that drill
an image through and through
And pretend to know
everything about the person
Residing within who
calls this cavalcade a home
Will you sing a solo
someday
Even through this
mistrust and the unchanged
Landscape rendered
finite by a few
shacks and a closed
flour-mill and a patch
Of corn trying to
justify itself amidst barrenness
Will you play for the
next 20 years weighing the
option of going away to
a nextwhere in a cavalcade
free of perspectives
and…light…
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