the bus was late again today
before it came two passed their way
and when it finally arrived
i saw trees wrapped in cellophane

the surreality of motion
exceeds the measure of one's breath
dissent is motion of emotion
but then again so is consent

where am i going this late morning
conveyed like saltfish to the store
where will i find a fleeting moment
which will my will in me restore

here are my eyes of latent lenses
that notice all in written form
here are my half-hands of all senses
desires layer and transform

here is my quiet absolution
here though disheveled i am candid
there are no reasons no solutions
poems are finished not abandoned