Sunday, June 19, 2016

Miserable nook

Cold is the window glass
tough until it shatters
though it cracks and fogs
in the absence of
what matters

Clear it isn't still
and it kills the view, the thrill
and an empty pocketbook
in the cluttered, moulded

lies lies
there it lies
it lies among
the mould and

it's unaccounted for
this is surmised -
for how can one write plans
in something
by their eyes

Miserable nook
one can't even look
one can't see the book ...

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