1.
miss ceciley in the park with a blank slate
and raindrops streaming down her face

a mere puppet on strings
of conscious thoughts fly away to the
east blown wind

"going south," she says - not sure if it's hell
but she's thinking only time can tell



2.
mister thomas frets with his broker's glasses
wiping away invisible dust motes
watching miss ceciley run down the street
in only her apron and bare feet

a judas stain upon her veins -
not a religious slur, merely a Shakespearean verse rehersed
as if heaven's umbrellas will cease to exist
like our grinding bones