The Perennial Fool

1 have carried a width of
Soul today, and am tired.
What  have these people to
Do  with me, what
Is this chair, this air, this
Atmosphere?   Are they in
Close conspiracy those
Three over there bunched
Like crows on a  dyke? I have
Arrived into winter, slighted
And  impaled, but now I will
Not  sell my fear, but keep it
Clutched, for it feeds and
Is cool; I blush the
Day,  the afternoon, perennial
Fool  of the room.

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