The Impermanence Of Abandoned Amusement

And this day has brought another bouquet
Of nowhere:
There it is as the night wins out,
And the rest of that defeated sense goes home
Over the hills clutching its consolatory
Prizes-
What a special wound, to be displayed here,
In the azure park and without a job:
With no one to read this because it is not
Great enough-
And I say this to the drunken peacock standing
In the impermanence of abandoned amusement:
Yes, loving you, but unrenowned-
Going through the hallways without even one
Face upturned amidst the pubescent multitude-
And you do not answer me,
Not even the way a minnow answers a ripple-
Not even the way an echo answers a cloud.