‘Paragraphic Appraisal’

Despite the sum of mornings by which we’ve already been beaten
There is too much I fail to notice I don’t notice
Like that for all the love in my breath I’m still capable of hatred
On a scale that should inspire a terror I won’t remember this time next year Replaced by a more encrusted sense of immobility,

Like a rolling stone that eventually will leave just its model in moss                         In some spiritual Pompeii excavated by unthinkable dandies
As a just lark for your perfect sake.

(October 11, 2015)