Friday, December 20, 2013
I turn to the right of it,
Fooling the enterprise as thoughts cry,
Mighty health proffers this century,
To wear the shoes of a former gathering.
I jog down the stairs and race
Into the felonious residence next-door.
The settees are crowded, glancing away,
Full is the room with cooking utensils
That the kitchen once dismayed.
I see that the ransack demanded
Everything, full of completion
Like the acts of a weather in the
Very system of our heads and pumice.
I slowly walk to the settee and glance down
At the mess they have hissed and hashed
For all those demanding thoughts
And successful ways to failure.
I regret them, and I am in remorse.