What Now

Hot plate misericodia toward

the blameless-unwashed for whom you have no room

at the in-crowd hostel loud with self-

congratulatory bark boasts latent 

with faux friends bending to the mood of 

unfriending the undeserving stuck

singularities teased by the prospect

of an unkempt asylum sought by hapless

chafing wielding accidental June  blooms

beneath the garden-facing rooms petunia-

prone gilt this noon sacrifice of pending 

satchels flush with once strewn weedlets cocooned

in full view of moon lined

glorias.