The wherewithal
To spawn a flicker
Of life
With words of lead
Or vocal tones
Is scarcely strewn
Into our air
To breath deep through our bones

Thus, pine and pout
A lover's plea
Bring bread to table weeping
Drag battered hearts
And watered eyes
Through the streets of Dis

Pass joyous dreams
To naive beings
Too young
To wear their wits

But know
As plighted masochist
You deny
The sting of tenderness
Speaking
With a lisp
Swimming
Through the wading pool