Wither

I’ll wait for the day the clouds
Look my way again. The crowd’s

Not so moist anymore, shriveled
up, they say they’ve levelled
up, I’m down for one drip or drop
of sweat, or spit, or liquid from a cup

They say, drip is now a kind of spunk
or swag, and everyone now eats junk.
I’ll wait, I’m no desert flower but
I’ll hold on, there’s a little moist in a rot

I mean, it’s the perseverance I was taught
Even my mother did it a lot

Held on to dust with her palm open wide
As the storm laughed and swirled inside

I’ll wait for the day the clouds look
my way again. Otherwise I’ll dry. Look!!

LARDO