"The town criers have cross-stitched their mouths shut
and stapled their eyes open.

The benches are all broken.
No one sits down anyway.
No one can fit
their broken wings beneath their cloaks.

A skin condition
that makes its victims appear timelessly sad
afflicts most.

Prominent citizens drown in the carpool lane.
Their makeup floats to the surface.

Wine glasses clink together.
They hate each other.
They clink until one breaks
and then the other.

There is no such thing as vagrants.
There is no such thing as home.

The sun has a tick.

No one can afford flowers,
but the children
stand very still in the garden
until the cold snap cracks."

- Gandhi