soliloquy

Your schtick is so lipsistic,

your game so lame,
you know it!

Lillies blithely strewn,
soaking,

adorn lovers betwixt covers

in the shades of bowers

and leavers aboard caskets

in uncharted silent waters.

Thistles strung high,
choking,

hesitate, then sigh 

and weave faux epistles

to nervous suitors sailing nigh.

The Ur-spirit knows of no gloom
but of its yearning flotsam,
each fragment knows of no bloom
but a figment of its own.

With what pittance
is one bought 

when all that ought to be
known is naught!

Fraught with secret foreboding
of f...utility,

undulating, accumulating
frittering, embittering
freight of our waking hours,
jetsam.