The Front Window Cogitation

The Front Window Cogitation By Sy Roth Observed the others drowning in their tears. A pasty rain inks the front window Sad remnants of a broken sky in Kandinsky splashes Marked on an ancient, bubble-blown glass. Outside cars distorted, People amble in sodden abandonment, Shuffling along with the meanderings of their misshapen dogs dragging their owners, who clutch white-plastic bags filled with their tick-tocking seconds off their tick-tock lives. A mushroom cloud of moon splashes the sky white, As they galumph slowly by, These sloths in inches of time, Their microseconds stretching to breaking. Inundated by an invasion of seconds, Gestating in a mitosis of time Set to implode— Or explode in a parade of Krakatoa rains— A burst breaks the sky in half Remnants of rain drip off bent grasses. Along the slippery, bubble-blown glass Smudged to icy, crystalline imprecision, Thoughts melt into a frothy latte foam Consternation of the other on the inside. Looking out. Brief quiescence returns, when The bleating window screams of malformed ideas Converted into dormant, spent lovers. The quislings wither, Mesmerized by the swinging bags of , Overflowing in a Mauna Loa of lava laved And the inside begins to die in the fog.