I’ve
taken to steps well-trodden
in
hopes of taming
a
pilgrim heart besotted
with
the nebula of youth’s fecundity—
that nubile hearth of indiscretion & indecency.
If only these
weekly descents
were sufficient
to satiate…
temper time and
illuminate
the path
meandering.
Alas,
the millstone erodes perennially;
a
gradient grinding solemnly,
while
the proletarian ablutions render clean
the
refuse of corporate resignation.
Yet,
restless is the soul tethered by duty:
a
drone somnambulistically seething
to
the desaturated bleating
of
desire slowly expiring.
