-azine/-idol/-idone

You're stuck in the stinker.
Wind hisses, one foot in the door
       angles wailing bent
       no alcoves here,
       they committed themselves
       they are warded off;
       reality ends with your sunday mass,
but we've always been
dreamers.

You've struck and spent
the golden -
       photos, recitals, sub-conscious literal mind sounds

you spoke of cotton candy clouds
but all I see are shaken
      and grey ones
      hazy and listless.

Engine rattle tubercular
despair revs up,
wheels and drumsticks spinning
us, in the animal soup of time

wretched mind,
celluloid and all is all
we've got.

Where are we going, ....? Due back in an hour - daypassers. Which way does your jalopy point tonight?