Stumbling Movements Against The Echos Of Bartleby Poem by Nat Z. Punx

the screen is being removed
there isn't much left now
much was not needed
much was offered
all was offered
except stillness
soon to the tombs
preferring not the grubman
wall street functions no more
industrious copycatting
until realizing
words are nailed to electron parchment
sent to ghosts rotting in soul worn walking crypts
cremated by the mailman
with the fuel of dead letters
cheap wine and delightful disgust
ashes to ashes
dust to dust
the fire burns out
love for real
as the furnace turns to rust
to be young and kneel
with fraternal texas four barrels
fading away like your last pair of honest 'frisco riveted pantaloons