Without aspiration
the emptiness shall overtake us
with fattened boredom.
The plates wax cold,
the menu tired;
abbacies of sleep.
Grinded down,
sipping poor solutions
and keep an eye on what the other guy had.
The dessert, distraction,
gladdens the face for what's on next,
to tune in the crummy remains;
those uneaten portions
to take home in the box.
No comments:
Post a Comment