To Inadequacy and its pillows

A song to cork the slutty face of wine                                                 
Construct and deconstruct shanties of bugs             
and slime, falsettos fries dry writhe, to guide                                                 
the motion sensors of a night awry.                                                 
           
An exercise so onerous, to clasp             
ceramic tense; time scrapes clock hands, bears jabs                                        
to find a haven for my sound, now that                                      
Glass solos won’t rhyme, why inhabit mime…           
                                          
a bland wordpad eye cracks split wide with, fresh                  
blonde strands to shine on five pink summits of                                               
deep sweat; done deeds blot purple walls locked closed         
by sheets while pillows snore past deltic shapes.       
               
Swept down sight glands few drops of silty prose             
Till peace and quiet, they condensed and froze.