When Poem by delilah contrapunctal.... yes, that's how I intended to spell it.........

the sadness is on me
like an old coat
rubbed clean of bristles...
the skin of it showing
a post-pellucid glare/spark,
an old bone
of contentious
fomenting...working to poke through
this
pelagic externity....hiding, cowering sniveling....
holding the too-familiar...the comfortless ensconcement....waiting
for
lumens to clear the drosswaivers
.I would have strangled without the something of your etceteras...
.this is written on my innards....the same parts and parcels...shape-shifted, re-geared, will come out to play another rondo...a nocturne.....in time...in time out of time....

I'm not asking you to wait...
probably, I am....

the baying one....immeasurably gifted, did it better, much.....
I wonder, is it good that I laze, remonstrable...and lack stones....?