WITHER MY SOUL.
Wither my soul wither
In kitchen linked porcelains
In soup bowls in tea cups
In spooned coffees in breaking of bread.
Wither my soul wither
In icy cold buttress of four walled
In ticking of clocks in rippling of sheets
In marooned conscience in cowardly feats.
Wither my soul wither
In pivoted books in ages of lores
In museums and masquerades
In scribblings of dictionaries
In directories of repute.
I have withered, withered too my soul
In heaps of termites
In some sanctified superfluous ways
In rules of conducts in games of delights
With spooned coffee I have marked my brain
Structured insignias of dry rots of the times.
