Mosaic glass volcano slide,
The size of sixteen hundred smiles,
Awhile we stare,
We stare awhile,
Then watch the clocks
And the light that glides just sighs
Then dies outside the restaurant.
Not much they’d never want
Those sycophants bleeding loose words
On the pavement,
Derailing the silence
Like plastic bags hiding their past
Behind dark clouds,
En-masse,
Just the tree leaves all gathered,
Unscattered to relieve them of shame.
Before rain comes
And we’re sat here,
Sat still here,
Always sat here,
We’re the benches
And we’ve never truly mattered.
