The air is seedy and the sky is somewhere else
Although I see the same metallic reflections that are me.
Melancholy follows in my search for the sun
That in a wrinkled opinion
I may never find.
Automated personnel can’t see me
Braving perils in undesignated areas.
Symbolic archetypes only pretend to be depraved
But still evoke some old and treasured self.
Those last remnants of free-spirited nonchalance
And euphoric summers