Grief is costly and I was broke, 
Not you or him or any bloke,
Could have filled my pot of casting love,
He pulled my purse-strings from above.
That heavy weight of stress I threw,
I shrunk and stole myself from you.
That constant stream of words that played,
For them, a fortune I'd have paid!
I foraged deep for that sweet tune,
But woeful blues, they filled the room.
You wouldn't know the...

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A thought on the squandering of our emotional resources, the premonition of a navel-gazer's trek toward emotional bankruptcy.

malingering
along
uncharted frontiers
liquid sorrow
bastes
unformed words
whose crystal
resonant vibrance
reverberates
within
a pilgrim soul
gaze once more
upon your
lint-filled navel
and share
the blossom
of ...

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