A dense undergrowth of extension cords sustains my upper world of lights, music, and machines of comfort.
My mind is led astray by every faint rustle.
Boredom strives to detach, but finds itself stuck.
Every farewell combines loss and new freedom.
In the great cities, winter glitters with art and feasting. But poetry, the country cousin, sees only the dearth of the fields.
Reason enables us to get around in the world of ideas, but cannot prescribe our thoughts.