The bumblejunk doorhinge,
The greets labeled orange,
The smart-flats and bungalow'd keens.

I want you for waiting.
My trip-stick is failing.
We settle for high in-betweens.

I know not this purpose,
My heart fakes for circus.
My napsack is packed full of liens.

I fluster the roundings,
And muse over drownings. I
Limp on my confusiest things.