Give me history which isn't buried in bruises
and I will flash gashes that look good. As a
Ruritanian, in throes of love's ache I ask, are
emotional-immunosuppressants available in
the medical supermarket? In my domiciliary
I'm my own temple. Prayers are within me.
Phrontistery consumes my waking hours,
while I sleep I indite. At my desk I'm my
amanuensis. Seeking meaning in meaning-
lessness is the essence of this airing.