A Short poem



untitled

The overwhelming bleak and bitter taste
of sadness.
like the lingering taste of bile
stuck in the throat of despair,
forever.
Opiates of pleasure, purpose
and happiness
rise, come down
and withdraw.
That red wagon, pulled along side streets in the dusk
carrying treasures...
but they won't be enough
and they won't all fit.
Filled up already
with loneliness
with herbs of sweetness.
The daylight will expose the cracks, the cracks in the street
as we walk
toward infinity.