floors in this building
speak with local knowledge
squeaks that betray
conveyance incognito

the grayness of the
second call
echoes
problematic and urgent
ringing and wringing
trying to bring to its charge
the hollow message of
diffusion and reduction

a half squeak towards
and I slump back
I dont need any more “good” news
your personal triumphs
tend to leave me wanting

rusting

your latest optimism
has become a noun
giving you
taking you and
taking you
robbing me of subtext

birds of a wide variety
grubs, snails and fireflies
all visit this thicket
to feed on my heart
in the gloaming

I wonder about the end
what embrace
waits
for my jealous shit

world without end.

© Tom Watters  9/2/06