Adieu (a passing thought)

In the morning
this mist
these eyes
seem sinister
beneath the dull gray blanket of the sky

Cars splash through
the street
like subliminal longings
of death

these are not
semantics, but
true thoughts
on Feb. 3, 2006

these corridors
only seem to shrink
by the day
and the rooms of the world
grow smaller
as the sober days pile

how long ? before
the imagination
again
can smile

and when she does,
embalm her countenance
in wax
and place her in the public square

as a testament
to these dreams - still lingering
amidst the dead