Falling… and crumpling                                                       confused frondescence breaks from                                                                  topiary home-branches                                                        dirtying the darkening paynes laden                                              sky top.

Botanical blades dragging, abrading anemic selves                                 against sandpapered sidewalk ways to no                            where,                                                                               billowing up cracked cement walls bearing barred                                                       first floor windows.
Up a level or so’s a male silhouette,                                               rising from a Georgian                                                             wing chair.                                                                            Gispert set between index and middle,                                     Johnnie Walker                                                                    dangling from all five in a lowball glass.
                                                                                                 Pacing, stopping, going, looking                                                 down.. Down two-three floors across                                                to a similar sandpaper side walk way leading to (the same) no                     where, stopping for no one,                                                                 but for                                                                                           wind, only then will they stop. And wait.                                       For their next fluttering escape.