A Cry Of Wistful Natures — A Sightseer’s Poem

Teach who I am, By what I am — by squinched expressions — I am.

Long-strung comes our parted night;

Long tarried is the apartment.

Interjected thru’ the methods of our sight:

Teach who I am,

By what I am.

By fate and fisticuffs,

That has done me an awful fright,

Comes never not

Broken or

Crumpled, this tactful tish.

Gailed in accommodating gray coats,

And mudded boot.

Long shall I hope by that fervent night.

Long projected to the nature’s

Universally prevailing as her magnificent

Yet indifferent principles

I bide and bind by that dime.

I laugh — I so do!

A cheery mess journeying in sweating guilds

And with my beloved

I come to and fro I proceed

Startling the hind, I brush off

The sunny steel glinting in my gray cloth,

With the liner black, and the scarf yellow,

That adorns my body.

Jap and jutting off the scorn of

Racking blisters.

Like a Doppler on wheels,

Mesmerized by the grinning cat

That begs me to felicity —

Oh, how utterly Brilliant is that;

Regardless of the bodes wrecked contracting around me.

Yet I do concern myself with the wrinkles and frown,

Remaining on my face.

The aging, blond appearance,

Becalming me no expectations ill of my truth —

Vexing to and fro, in the monumental porticoes I wield,

By boot and by halved clothes,

The mud does chaff!

A Landseer remarked to me; The Sanctuary unthreading to you, by the images I leave

To give the impressions, first,

beholden to me.

The gaiety in my rainbows, and my bowing shows,

By what you perceive of and by me

I remain to be just that seer.

So comes to an end is our chase, A momentum ganged to its frequent ends

And duly, I suppose I’ve left aside, my boxed lodger,

I remain tight to my precious time — Apparating, reclosing, and augmenting —

My darling ’tis my grasp, and she remains to me As I close down tonight, by my nature.

At last! Asleep — that tiresome woman Now done, by my wreckless besides.

At last! Asleep — ire to none, As my fatigue overpasses me;

Outpaced till further days just had, Boating away-away. Ah! Comes in my sense,

By the peaky nose bringing; by squinched expressions,

I am done — asleep-sound. Asleep-sound-asleep; Sweet approaches.

COME ALONG WITH THE DOCTOR’S NEWSLETTER

A PIECE OF SIMILAR ZEAL:

The Curation; Our Publication:

A POEM OF SIGHTSEER; THE FLUX:

As ever, Dear Reader.