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