Question

Dog sitting in sun
for one second
thinking
then distracted, moves

So you
still, then up,
window, chair, fingers
roll virginia, grin

Oh sinner
transparency is your skin
poor thin-souled thing

Full of bluster and
no king to your own life
just a serf to pleasure

Baubles bring you pain
oblivion
poor body-craving thing

Would a letter do it,
hard words
to tell you are wrong?

Or would that incessant
song keep playing
let no sense in

Keep you chained
and willing
angled slope your feet

Are on
whore to your own
obsession?

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