If only it was standing on legs,
our offerings wouldn’t go unanswered.

So queer it is— thy personage, a burden—
to expect it should carry me, taking flight as sordid mount, crisp and toppling azure.

For my woes, upon my head, a crown laden with knowledge I needn’t have known,

Now within a spoiled moment, acts heathen—  not minding the very second could *****,
blotting out the day's starlight, then might find me sent to bed without supper.

Alas, fair madam, you have gum on thy shoe.

Pointing to my bruised hands— bent, toiling in attendance on present affairs— the culprits.

Anticipating the purchase of new stamps, dawning now on me— I owe previously to another, in lieu, my lament.

I knew my apologies get arrested in my absence.

To explain in a sentence your wait— I ask you to post-judgment and of thy forgiveness, have ready as is writ here, the purchase in my hand.

Questions to actions, answered— in view of my behavior.

As is, I coming back through the door, a dour affair.

In supposition I see needing to shoulder it again.

You found new lodging for another part, stealing it away from my line of sight.

Split twain, in even halves, I expectant—
a change, come blowing through the window,
lofting in us a difference— in the day-to-day we so frequently inhabit with our dole.

Thy yawn— squalled menace— is cherry in repeat, with flat glass eyes.

A cast of daggers conspires to lay me under stone— daily, when inquiring of it how much was mine.

Taken as I—  robbing you at hold-up from the stage, and ball you up in keep of ransom.

Once fiduciary complete— make me king of the dead.

In its flint-pitched face, past the lichen, sat lettered: "Only asking.” My response—
and I beneath it.

Be it in any other than that, it is that I, in turn, bare the part lacking to purchase it.

Seeing now— you would ****** indiscriminately, at the items, taking whole and complete, the all of it, thyself.

For as much as I’ve lain my part to it, be receiving back effective that vantage— capital of gated mansions.

For oft will I do— will then I throw red-handed lighting.

A viper, hissing in spirit—
in truth, while in keep— a horde hath you sowed, stole away, one land over.

So now I set tracking you, traveling in it— belated and absent.

Henceforth, an ardent sanctuary to attend thine cadavers' needs— until next week's payday.