we have jar and jars,
and have no idea,
what is there?

filling in idle moments,
i stand and stare,
brush sundry tears,

far..
(is n´t the heart
fair metaphor?)

i tap it,
and unscrew,
a corroded lid,

sniff and wonder..
once,so new
and loving-

kind of grey,
mad,
and rancid..