Musings on Radiohead and Classical Art

This is time we're shaking
Unwrapping the candy-striped
lamp post at the corner bar.
Splashing down lugged soles
into a collected pool off the curb
shod by the grasping tendrils
of a workplace left but not forgotten.
Into malignancy we stride,
sitting on a stool next to a shadow;
in our youth we called it wantonness.
Now it grasps its stale beer,
pint glass glazed by dozens of sticky
fingerprints, pulse slightly detected
by an involuntary twitch betraying
its Dürer Stare into a luminescent
reflection too often mistaken
for tarnished dismissal.