Solitude

a climate of forgetfulness
hangs around my head
like a fog bank hovering just
inches above a marshy bog;
tender temptations of deceit
slide down the fleshy sides
of my moist face as one might
expect from a tree climbing slug;
minuscule thoughts wrap themselves
around spoken indifference
in the hopes of not being forgotten
or ignored like jibbing children;
humid wind turns chilly sending
signs of individual preparedness
needed while forgetfulness still
sits in all the available cheap
seats without paying a dime.

30April14