that's where the panthers play.
my routine is waining
in want and wishing for what was.
hunting the gathered grief,
I'd love to have a drink and sink.
but my homespun best
is better than the trip of any pill.
even the lakes envy the swans
for their fluttering feathers.
just as August envies September
for being one step closer to October.
they say envy turns you green,
but I disagree.
envy turns you red,
the color of rotten romance.