My handwriting is messy
Certainly not clean and black
I have lukewarm tea to drink
We are far from what we lack
I remember, it sounded rough
Three and a quarter centuries past
For me, it hasn’t been long enough
I scribble a dreamless record
Eating fragments, seals of wax
Conceived for nothing but indulgence
Mindlessly discarded snacks
I am far from flaxen, steeped in smoke
And will be further before we’re done
Overheating, saturated, and broke
I had nowhere to turn but skyward
Your lizards splaying spread
Two were fighting rancor-bound
One desired my heart, one my head
Bend fresh pages, for shame
Say goodbye without a siren
Cry, allow your swollen self to drain
23 March 2009
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