Sad Labels:
verse
Sad spectacles in close.
Languishing in their sight
as vision departs.
Capricious infatuations of
daunted robots. This cavalry
of drones saves nothing worthwhile.
The bed and the book
wait, for words to show;
blatant expectations
lie again, coloring in
those lines, one number
at a time; until we are
satisfied with our failures.
If it's finally over,
then we're better off,
now that we know
for certain,
what we're not.