Stale jokes,
echoed stories,
failed glories,
noses running further than my feet.
My mind escapes, my feet are caught
and it's not even snowing this year.
Stuck in the mixup.
My eyes see reruns with the TV turned off.
I sit more than I would like.
The only times I have the new words
the sandman is reeling me in.
It's bland like wheat rice on a mid Atlantic beach of sand.
