The lamp shade goes first.
Is it made of the finest silk?
Then comes the base. Is it made
of the hottest brass?
And now the light bulb. Does it
bring out the warmth that makes
one to wonder where they make such.
The whole thing bunfled up, is it thrift store trash that has to go back where it came from or land
in the dump?
There's no room for despair when what
we want is the tatoo. It is either there
or not. If not, it is not a collectable.
You wasted your time and money in this
purchase. Someone has the original, in some collection close by. Fix the fixable.
A lamp is still a lamp.The auction of the
century is coming into town. Don't sell.
boots
denims change color with each droplet..
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
All these everyday images combined together leave a impression that gives me a bit of assurance that it is better to keep my own lamp. It sheds enough of light for myself to remove dreaded despair. Thank you for sharing a poem with unique images.