The staggered limousine
Poured with champagne flutes,
Whistling the stars to dance with its feet,
To the beat of its movements,
Carefully decomposing under the Halo lights,
Hanging by the unemployed city streets.
A single stark of Holocene,
Within this whole of something darker;
Maybe some to start an essay with
And some to suffice;
Or maybe for writing poems,
Inside this instant coffee tableau,
Fixated on the open window to the immaculate sulphur sky.
Weeks pass like tapetal waves ebbing on the paves,
Synced with the baseless base of whatever there is to feel,
To see, to reel with desires;
Holding once in a decade,
Facades of faxed emotions with broken URLs,
Jostling in the inbox, ready to be posed and deleted;
Like there was nobody, nothing, a weird emptiness,
Resting under the rainbow silhouette.