the future past looks foul,
the self soon to be fallen.
Yet, the will lifts the feet,
and carries umpteen years
down the stairs to the street
for only ten more beers.
Then, the return, ascent—
four stories up the stairs
to white walls and the rent,
the heights and the lament.

Similar Posts

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *