Y7week27 Auburn and Old Lace

Hi, foolishly busy month, this. Anyhow, please bear with me as you read the following :wink:

Auburn and Old Lace

There's a dust on the sky that just won't go away
It's trapping the traffic lights' amber beating,
The lonesome disco beams, the glow of TV screens
I remember this eerie, wavering semi-darkness
From a house up north where I am forgotten
And I stand to greet it like a friend

For from what I can see through the rain hail-
ing the crossing of yet another idle day
The lamp on my bedstead's solitary, apart from
Me and the moth on the windowsill, it's only
Brooders and Lovers awake in this street
And, oh well, Pandora's sleepwalking

Auburn, the haze of the rat race
Auburn, expectation quicksand

Quarter to one, Woolf beckons and Miley, she
Finally holds her tongue though I still hear her laughing
My, I almost joined in

Old lace, holding onto garbage cans
Old lace, always tearing at ankles

Till mid-air, mid-jump I trust fall again into
Expired rhymes in the living room tomb and names on lists
Guess, I'll be working that shift, too

Auburn and old lace, it's been a sneaking debris
It's the deaths that I own and die daily

And, well, the cars are bound to scar me eventually,
Cursing from my bicycle between tram tracks without helmet
I think of how the parking beasts broke my dad

And he who said it's cooking, sleep and friends
You neglect first if under pressure, smiled dismally when
I glimpsed him today, five weeks after the stroke

So, with the sky as it's been for nights, I suppose it's on

No, we can't follow science and we won't heed the news
No, it won't help to say that we've had our fill
And it sure won't help to stay up
When everything's going down

And if the pandemic won't kill us
We'll be burning out at 21 anyway
Or the moment we exhale
That disciplined whale-up-on-the-beach
To study a moth on the windowsill
In Auburn and Old Lace

Oh, the deaths we die daily.

Rambling, I admit. But, on the bright side, it's already the shortened version! :lol:

Cheers,
straycat.