Below the sun starts to droop
like my eyes in the winter haze
Swift and aloft, mesmerized
The penny looses its shine
And the well seems fit for drowning

Rummaging the the rubble
My heart's not a store
Scarred and broken
open through the door comes the looters

I am robbed
bobbed for a bite on the floor of unseen
Though these eyes are sore for looks
Scandalizing props a broker through
stained glass windows
faulty ceilings and fogged up glasses
Elapsing through the Praise scratched Lord hands

Am I left to compose
Iced over good mornings as honor and parishioners rumble over
Where am I headed, where do you go?
plastic pieces flexing
Docking down to where the light never seems to hit
But we take mark with a bouy-
To say your words *"This is how far I got"

Through my meadows I burn
To the chimney stack scoffs
And the melancholy sweeps to rotate the blinks over
and over and over again