I see a world of broken dreams, mangled forms they failed to take, gadflies on a soul not mine, insouciant songs, dabbled in colors they never knew.

This unmoving maelstrom no seed of hope can hope to pierce. Fly elsewhere perfidious pollen, seek not to sully this confection with the grating melody of youth.

Why do I inveigh against a cast too great, an everchanging litany of misnamed misdeeds, clever devices of artless authors, unoriginal not ineffective.

The parade is distant touching me, but not upon me. Disgust alone breeds no tears, a quiescent enigma.

Why must I watch, moved unmoving, a relic of morality, another’s hysteric, sounding the hours til morn in somber peals of silence.