The Quest

Midday angel, and the Mexican lady, swarming like a love, and then lost like a rainstorm in summer, and tomorrow, and the dream of it, imagining, and aligning the self with its possibility, and money makers, and those on the edge or distraction, and this place that isn't home, and home searching on its way, to me, and I, here I am looking for the place within all of these relationships, and I sidle and sometimes, I would rather close eyes to avoid confrontation, but there is confrontation anyway, it never seems to want to stay at peace with itself, and yesterday, turns into today, without change, with difference in the sky, and feelings, perhaps accordingly, and a Chinese lady, given me less than her soul, and I fight with the warmth, heading for the outskirts of love, and then there is the corner, the place that one is driven to, and the rain, and the shape of the day, and the quest, and wondering why.