The lonely speaker green circle light
can't be controlled, unless done by human fingers
it also sits on it's prefab neighbor
while the piano playing of computer keyboards
ignores it staid existence.
Birds will rest on the crooked outside branches
twittering and chanting like it is an early spring
in the old Iceland terrain of the front yard
run by a committee of tree denuders
and low-rent money grabbers
a bald macho baseball speak and his pink pickup
and the other a voice to be heard but a presence
not to be seen to flick a repair. Neither of them
have been around enough to be praised.

Sometimes I wake up and do nothing like an inert gas
when I should exert myself and press a
new beginning
both a balmy or warm climate
would enable me to resist that gas.