Dropping Dimes

Boyish banter from our lips

Acting out buffoons–

Comments on our tender wounds.

Praying for a window

Present perfect, future boons.

So for now we take a chance

Some days up and some askance.

Daily dropping dimes in baskets–

Looking for a dream

Brief encounters–sideways glances.

Changing with a growing cadence,

Mourning passing onward lookers–

Fortune brushes vinyl tombs.

But for now we’re in the rooms

Destination’s second entry–

Pseudo-birth or Renaissance

Too dark to tell,

Too wet to bail,

Just for now we’re in our wombs.