Here was I
cooking a feast
my mind it wandered
to a niche
within my heart
a tumbled soul
to thoughts, I thought;
would not unfold.
Of you a distant heartache
a lover not to hold
except inside a headache
of pictures new & old
& cornered was my guardian
who tried for my defence
& fear it crept inside me
& scattered all the sense
& forth came all the lonesome things
& felt at such close range
the creatures all inside of me
quickly became deranged
& fell all over in the dust
& wrinkled up their shoes
until the tears crept out at dusk
and left the feelings used
A hand shoved forth a history
of stories dark & light
to send some thinking to New York
on a sleepy Sunday night.
