I remember the mornings
mourning
as if the black pervasive
loneliness
wasn’t ever there before

I can hear it in the timed
percussion
an apathetic turn signal
the neglected front wheel
of a plastic shopping cart
destined to outlive
disposable box store parades

a subliminal undercurrent of despair
subtly imbedded
beneath the cosmetic surface
of every television commercial
being wiped compulsively
into the worn Formica countertops
of a hundred thousand roadside diners

Familiarity equates not
to connectivity of the spirit
Wars between the heart and head
disrupt the commerce of self esteem
When the mirror of self reflection
is mounted in the dark
the soul that longs for itself
may never be satisfied in the looking