Yesterday was the worst. 
You know what I also intuit 
is having not enough gravitas 
to bring the storm to its 
self-desired conclusion. I mean the way 
rarebit fiends stumble on truths 
in the disordered dreaming of multitudes: 
something we can’t and won’t 
turn to our account—"vested" 
interests. 

You know, this is just 
where you don’t care: the average 
walk of citizen A to the corner 
of a square where all gets lost in 
mumblety-peg. Where the pickpockets get by, 
but only just. And sand freezes in the gutters. 

Looking out the window reveals 
that the weather is or isn’t about to change. 
Forelocks will be tugged in a fortnight 
and other appraisers add to the already vehement 
heap of misunderstood and eagerly approved evaluations: 
a coming out into spring after a winter of 
carefully worded captions. A love like self-love 
upgraded to “pastoral”. Yes, easy does it, 
always. What you see will be used against you.