It’s been three days since the laundry was done-
They never say “thanks”
But, in the still world between the covers of words I never hear, it’s passion is so exactly placed.
Do days go by without excitement? I clasp my book against me.
And on the little landing we’re dispersed, and totally undisposed for employment,
And I want something else to get me through this life.
Couldn’t we pretend to be pedlers?
It’s not your trying, or anything. You’re an inconsistent player.
All the world’s a stage and you’re my player, my portrayer.
We lean to the other side to keep balance, and in consequence are the most exposed.
So I lean on my knees, taking several breaths,
Taking several breaths
If only to straighten
And keep on Going,
