Roger Singer

Without organization,

a coat,

lonely for companionship

hangs without distinction,

a country away from newness

where its cloth once

renewed its owner

with warmth

now holds those truths

in forever silence

with empty pockets

abandoned

into solitary disgrace,

Its threads softening

Into age from idle time

while fading to

the fallen and

the relinquished,

the lost

but not found.