It is March and I have finally accepted that Christmas is over.

Stars splinter night, and if you’d just step outside -
sky looks like paragraphs of dishevelled text
corrupting against white page.
 
Across empty streets, lampposts define evening
and in bedrooms, people journal the day.
 
One writes about love as an obsession and another, that;
It is March and I have finally accepted that Christmas is over.
 
This is the first step toward recovery in majority middle class towns.
 
The others are an assortment of instructions found
between the hedges of inspirational quotation marks,
 
like;
 
Stop and smell the roses.
 
Or;
 
Love nature, and nature will bless you.
 
In other words;
 
To actually watch shadow break against water,
And think that - In any other Instance,
tree collapsed against roof would be a
tragedy.