a glass of white noise

Menthol fumes
 drawn in through
 slightly barbarized teeth,
 and out
 into the overcast morning air
 joining the mist
 over the tended green landscape
 of the 'invalid settlement,'

where the sparsely rippled stillness
 is observed
 by the black cat
 in the window,
 set against
 a drawn white fabric wall

outside the enclave
 and its evening gardens,
 the roads go on:
 curving
 linking
 congesting,
 the myriad spinning wheels
 of the mad world
 turning and churning
 for love and hate,
 life and spite...

maybe some century
 they'll get it right