Off the cuff

I am the wind
I am the curtain opening
on the brain in the vat
the pale sunset
failing today
but the mountain still beautiful
as it often can be
accentuated by the nets
catching golf balls in the air
and the pylons
and antennas
like minarets
silent to the unspeakable truth
of needing to be more
productive but
wondering what
layers of salt
could possibly
make anything better
heal the translucent sea
rearrange
the angry smiles
the ravaged lips
the disorientated faces
like some painting
of Picasso
bereft of inspiration
in the dull unerring
hum of what is surely coming.