On the DEWLine 2.0: Dwight Williams

Flight, this way and that.
Not south-to-north, not now, though.
Geese are so off course.

Half-set of curtains,
rediscover'd in plain sight
where they ought to be.

Bus maps, swapp'd away;
Swapp'd in: flowchart-style now,
Geographies gone.

Trapp'd on King Edward,
Babe in mother's arms, screaming.
Mother, herself trapp'd.

All praise be to angst!
That "sweet" torment, addictive
to far too many.

Reservation's made
to share some newish poems
at next week's meeting.

Madness engulfs me:
I live by paper each day,
yet fears seek its end.