In A Trough

READY for a night’s merriment, I let the
REVUE wash over me, realizing no simple jests would buoy low spirits. Stuck
BELOW, in a trough entertainment cannot reach. I cannot
HASTEn a deeper remedy–how to make something count? Sooner lift myself out by my hair.

Things change

READY reckoners no longer required; calculators reign.
BELOW the belt, say the reckoners, feeling the pain. More
HASTE less speed, claim the reckoners, shoved out the door. ‘REVUE’s on, let’s go,’ they say, ‘since we’re no longer loved.’    

The Face of Justice

AWAIT that justice on the far shore of mercy, you
DROVEs hungering for payment of the now.
MORAL pane, shattered, is the dark glass of the now, but
REEDY, bruised reeds, hoping, will see the face of justice.

To Wrest Treasure

AWOKE I and pondered my blurring run of days,
THESE each fleeting by and I cannot quite grab them. Life
LEASE will expire. Most mornings I open my eyes, speak a
DITTO, go through a sameness. How to wrest treasure from it all?