The Hinge
The hinge which
Keeps the chowder bowls
Full through the
Murderous of modern
Tables, you know, glib
Appreciations of latest hatchets
I, meant, possibly
Hatchbacks; and rainbows
Are, needless to say,
Sanctified things, see,
The general tone
Or, let's say
Incongruent quality of
Everything: I am
Trying to mousetrap
That in a
Poem, which, bothers
Me consciously, vaguely,
As it somehow
Is underneath
It all
(yes sir!)
Mirroring what
Fundamentally bothers
Me! And, who
Can sleep thinking
About how
It all depends
On us wanting
Things!
Counting sheep!
Counting sheep!
Killing sheep!
Copyright Kemal Faruquee