Glass, Half Orange

Shouting 
wishes of
Autumnal hymnals 
in Spring
as Summer approaches 
fast.

From this
rusted balcony,
saliva splashes 
down on the listening
parishioners,
consuming my cadence.

Refreshing
myself
for myself,
but allowing others
to hold
my slogans.

Espousing
doldrums,
young and running,
in a rainy city
somewhere still
cold and covered in love.  

An iniquitous 
vantage point
of broken eyes,
looking down
on those that
look up.