Bubbles

Am at nether again, sipping morn fabulous,
Paining through the past, lending future a hand.
Solaced by dying man - stranger to all aurivorious,
Who phessed fortunes improved, who phessed
Kismets mend. Foolish to both worlds, childish
In every noun, poised for the grander stroll,
Stroll of companion-proof, he furnished my
Dream house with verbs, not of his, of renowned,
Making me think despondent, making me feel aloof.

Never here before, spilling lavishness timely,
All illyored kisswashed, copious virtues obtained,
Words of a merry man – noble, of habits comely,
That never scratch surface deep, that never will
Dribble gained. Tidy from out to within, fertile
In words and actions, astute in each laugh spilled,

Spilled laughs yet leaven by

… fuck, “and like a child forgiven” at the very end of a poem,

perhaps it will fit another one in million betterments…


bubbles, stretched, blown, loved…