Rusty Bucket

I lower a bucket, rusted through, slowly into the absolute absence of rational arousal that is my mind's abyss my heart claims, capriciously, that it is a well the rope is frayed and laughably short every dream has long ago poured out the rotted bottom the metal clangs like a dull bell bouncing off the hopeless despair of your betrayal my soul thinks of the Blue Danube Waltz and dances four beats to the measure will you not join me? I think of a joke and begin to laugh I begin to count sevens and contemplate shards of mirror and a fools myriad reflections and you all just stare at me expressionless and think me too pitiful for a metaphor