Day’s Reflection — A Tidy Poem Of A Traveler; For Restless Folk

A Writer Is at Block; Whilst a lover is further away, at lovable sexiness, with He, as she must — as she must. A Writer is there, and she is here too.

So coming hence, coming as we so must — I find myself lettering here, A piece so concerned in itself,

It is so absurd to even try and speak Of someone else’s name — So why even rhyme to perturb

That listening decry. Yet I ado! We do! Abused and hurt,

The recycling circle Of an artful product Comes to tidy rests

In Tatter and Princes, A love that must remain Disquieted within the hereby heart,

Is ever fancying itself lucky To do so and rot The elegant sex of the body away —

I remember you; The fancying to chattel and touch you — But must all go away, once the next day begins.

A Writer Is at Block; Whilst a lover is further away, at lovable sexiness,

with He, as she must — as she must. A Writer is there,

and she is here too. Not mentioning the fondly closed ados — I mean not if that’s for me to foreclose.

I mean not either — if theretofore, I spout the closure of the day alone — I’m not the kind of Scot that must use the phone.

Further into the rings I adore it, and I do go! With the Nazis and a bitter spirit for Gold;

Further into the rings, I hear, miss, and must frown — With the steel that rains fondness for foreigners!

At the chase for the day; At the close of the day — I find myself utterly alone!

Utter alone, I do find myself — My, what an experience; What luck! I do hold it!

Almost too late but — never; Never, but late too almost. Leaving that over to the Editorial’s remarks!

COME ALONG WITH THE DOCTOR’S NEWSLETTER

A GOODBYE TO FOREIGN RAIN:

Marches Of Gold; Our Publication:

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As ever, Dear Reader.