Found And Lost Box Poem by Vincent Cibelli

Waking in a metropolitan quarter,
Wandering in sleepy-eyed regeneration
To abandoned streets, soulless sidewalks,
Trash and emptiness swirling in the wind.
The sun shyly peaks from behind
Overly protective safeness of the clouds;
The usually incessant whines and monotony
Of constant commerce and conversation
Stills like a lunar graveyard at dusk;
The laughter too, of the aware and oblivious,
Gone, no trace, no victim, no motive, no crime!
Blinking eyes, pinching arms, questioned sanity! ?
Vague! Flat! Unproductive! Rhetorical!
Burned bridge purposes? Self produced scapegoats?
Spent many earned hours fiendishly isolating;
Isolation on lay-away. No returns after addiction!
Salvage the wreckage, redesign, rebuild, restore,
Islands from volcanoes, oaks from acorns.
Though the flowers are wilting in my window boxes
House plants dried died now fertilize.

African violets, horsetail rush, and daffodils,
Buying porterhouse steaks and drinking imported beer,
Every Tuesday evening treating the luster lack party
Every Wednesday painting forms in mediocrity
Most days in poetry for unknowns and sleeping pipes
Saturdaze; implied, Sunday morning coming down
Wake up, retrace doubled lines, flashed puzzle pieces

Lost:
one winning lottery ticket, advanced education,
Commiserative arms and eyes: wise, bright,
Contemplative colloquy, random road trips,
Saintly madness on city stoops,
Beach bound beauty, blossoming blessed bewilderment
Triumphant train track temperance tragedies

'Reward! Please Call! ',
Bleeding I'm pleading the wall
Or Praying to God.