Lost in the spin cycle,
bookish thoughts hung out to dry.
Parched on the sun-baked line,
crinkly clothes-pins of the mind.
Cooling wind from autumnal breath,
billowing in the dandelion sway.
Reading it all on breeze wafted sleeves,
catacomb musings emerge from the maze.
Diminutive fit for giants days,
shrunk too thin for glutton ways.
Bleaching truth from the honor guard,
in disregard for color-safe white lies.
Wardrobe of rugged patchwork souls,
vehemently clinging to woebegone lifelines.
Searching for the shoddiest of means,
to stretch the fabric without bursting the seams.
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