Nobody makes quilts
anymore
from scraps-
gathered, smothered
with pieces of
all the left
overs...
Some people don't eat
left
overs
or sugar, or walking creatures, or
things that taste fishy-
Some say if
you dish it
you should take it
and some say
No, thank you,
I'm full.
There seems to always be a way
To say,
It is not right, it is not my-
fault-
lines lie
over there-
I was listening
Under a cover...
almost like, you know-
umbrellas
were made to shield
the light
by design.
I don't like
the shelter.
I get rained on-
Instead
I blame myself
for what cannot be
unheard, retracted
undone
The word(s)
They
Use
They, them, the other
Way, they say
Faults
Sleep, for a time...
Painting by Henry Singleton, 'Ariel on a Bat's back' c. 1819 in Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.
