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.
Posted on 05/12/2018Copyright © 2023 Matthew Zangen
Love the feel and the off beat quality of this poem.