What is value
the extent of desire
a pyre
piled high
in wait of a fire
Is it beauty
or familiarity
It is not purity
perhaps banality
All I know is all that I see
and when I place myself
upon the scale
I never seem to measure up
to the most pathetic
puddles of ****
that dot the landscape
like fetid sores
that have nowhere to drain
Waiting patiently
for a driving rain
I know will never come.