Revolving Door

Give me a coffee mobile so I can cry in comfort and insulation,

not the “eff off” frigidity of her stinging salutation.

Her high sails say “home is near” but

diabolical Pipes promptly deter.

No Roots,

Revolving Doors.

How I was hooked by her soothing mirage,

To witness a deflated, demoralized—Wrecked Entourage.

creeching Pipes were screams of a lost steam,

A vigor the archives astutely esteem.

Reconstruct? What do you mean?

Change of course I tell you, it will redeem.

No Roots,

Revolving Doors.