Lost Cause Poem by Sigurdur Gislason

Here we are again
in this city
full of one way streets
that all seem to lead
in the same direction
sewers promptly closed
due to long term abuse
skies black and blue
like a newly beaten
self

jets overhead whispering
in hieroglyphs
about crossroads
traffic burdened streets
and even roundabouts
carrying laughing passengers
I used to call our
friends

you
keep my flying feathers
locked
in the treasury chest
of my own making
guarded only by
my vigilant kindness

everything starts with a dream
even
the worst nightmares