How fault you

Gorgeous the daily dreams, the auburn
the strawberry blond and the emerald
red relief from these the every-
day mirages
of meaning hourly labor compounds.
Some few which warrant so much
as symbolic realization. Some fewer still
which prove true
at any extraordinarily smashing times
and spaces. Yet where else
must there be the cold hard
splash of deferred sleep and what
of deep necessity honestly should keep
pace. The hours and the days march
on they say. The starched shirt drapes
a wrinkle here three more the week
following. And at night it all retires
or social insecurity retreats and spouses
and companions share defiance
when they're wise.