The Great Depression
Since I can't
Find your neck,
And my time is
On the wall...
...In a room
That is suspect...
Hard to steady
From the fall...
...Tho, I'm due
For a bruise,
If we estimate life.
...It's a sentence,
A gift,
And a pretense
So slight,
That we try to
Redouble,
And jack
Up the
Price.
...Until the Great
Depression,
And then life
Becomes
As cheap as a
Birdsong,
As we screw down
Our thumbs,
And plug up
Our pockets
So no wind
Gets in...
Since I can't
Find my faith,
Smarmy air
Reeks of Gin,
And the clouds,
Gorged on wine
Know the state
That I speak...
...Bleeding out
Through both eyes...
Longing under
Veiled skies,
For the wonder,
And pride
That that woman
Bequeathed.
©
2017
Bunny Villaire
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