Can you remain serene amid the garish clamor,
While those around you have gone deaf?
Can you trust yourself and a capricious path,
When others erase vital signs along the way?
This trilogy has poisoned the well, sullied us,
Creating a muddy road that spirals like a rusty coil.
Every weekend, I sip brassy toasted kill devil,
Seeking answers amidst the ice cubes.

Can you still hope that tomorrow will bring relief,
Gazing at the yellow sun and thinking, “Ah, it’s still warm”?
Can you rise each morning like an unwrapped gift,
Your steps crinkling like paper as the routine begins?
Agendas trickle down your steamed shower curtain,
Staining a mirror that serves as a weathered portrait.
A steady hand can wipe it clean, remove the dank blur,
Leaving fingerprints that fade with the cooling ai

by Amaury Genao