“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Showing posts with label crumbs. Show all posts
Showing posts with label crumbs. Show all posts
Saturday, July 16, 2016
All you can eat
All the pieces have been rationed out
and crumbs sustain me.
I remain seated after all are done,
awaiting my excuse.
The lights have long dimmed
and all voices echo over themselves.
A faint trace of repast and laundry
hangs atop the resting air.
The candle flame belly dances lasciviously
low and full.
In jest, the world smelt a silver platter,
lining up and leaving a generous tip.
I count cents,
I keep my change
ingesting the feastful rest.
Painting by Monogrammist Hb. [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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