Translucent

Today I read in one of those self-proclaimed "quality newspapers" that the current trend in architecture (To borrow heavily from past styles) is pathetically anachronistic, and quite vulgar. The critics postulate that it goes against progress, that it is far from picturesque; on the contrary, it is rather absurd, that the aficionados risk asphyxiation by the fumes of sentimentalism that escape from such monstrosities. Yadda Yadda Yadda.

I reckon what they would have said to the architects of the Renaissance.

Beautiful men sitting with their backs bent
In commuter trains.

Should I lament the empty space in my bed?
With my knees clenched together
Mimicking a human
Not fully formed.

Or, should I brood over the loss of youth
And wear my slippers to work
To show that my body
Has not frozen
From rolling on the floor?

(It's silly, he knows
The fire of the volcano's
Breath can hardly be
Put out like that)

Or, should I run to the local jeweller
To buy diamond rings and necklaces
For the sleeping ladies
In their blue dresses
(Such pretty creatures)
Who all reside at the same address?

(They don't know me
It is safe to talk.
To stop and smile
This is the otherside
Of the liver)

Everyday my bed gets emptier
Beside me shall lie only my hair
Reminders of the time when I
Had only Time in wait.