August by the Window

Bob, , 
Of August 
By the window,
The wind
Fills the room with
The smell of rain.

And the clever words of the poets
Throw knives at the wall.

And the taxi cabs are now fairy tales
Washed ashore by UFOs. 

Frivolous fails when 
It is nothing at all,

So, give us something, 
If only a broken August, when it
Speaks at all. Darkness up 

On its hind legs welcomes you home.

Of uncertain hands
That hold the earth,
Fold dreams into space.

In the end, 
The poet works in lines,
Not in what they mean.

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