Fif Yea 'o Nev Liv Agai

 

Fifty years fell faulted by none other than mine'own
flock'o faults and filigreed, first-tier follies (as we have know'd'em).

Fifty years fell faulted and my tears washed nothing that couldn't
be re-filthed wit'in a minute or two, so i cleaned your eyes, so at least

one of us could see straight. Fifty years fell so faulted that eye had
to re-find the proper fissures with which to foothold and handhold

for dear dire life (and the punctuations there'in) without assurance
that either of us would live alive to story on about how we lived & lasted.

Fifty years fell faulted directly on my flatted (archless) foot gone febrile
wit d'trauma. All the other eyes coul'no turn a'way, as proper would deem.

Fifty years fell a'faulted in fear and fascination re: What The Fuck Comes
Next, as warblers wobbled in trees, shedding blessings on (that) what it is.

Garbage man is due tomorrow, fifty years falling re-faulted these countless
times, picking different melodies to sing, counterpointed wit his trashy Self.
                                                  ^     ^     ^
None of these are yours to worry, my Gone Child.
I'll never live again while you are so lonesome Gone.


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