I've lain in every bed I've made, escaping daylight and scutwork cleaning floors I fed fat, staying the glut, like the dust I bled, I asked for all the height I lost, lavished in no undeserving quality as I fell off; time again left a buried man to float away.
05/12/2018
Posted on 05/12/2018Copyright © 2023 Matthew Zangen
Love the feel and the off beat quality of this poem.