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
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