The Carrier Is Late
When the peak hour throng sleeps in quilts thick
The post dismissal winter strikes inside a hunger kick
This timely rumination - a cardboard stuck in my hour-glass
Somehow makes my sand dropp less fast
And, this December afternoon, all the languishing there
For the heart to bear
Has neither company nor care
Tell me then - the guard who stares now
Stirs no response - how?
Then after, the motor-man who noisily passes by
Looks bewildered at my over-the-top sigh
His velvet words did always stimulate
But Paranormal Curiosities which irrefutably ...