This poetry
of weeping willow
Wiping up suspended
breath
Of villainous
crime
Carried through
by rope or pillow
Leaving out
the ladies’ drapes
Not hanging
on arms
Nor sliding
on side
Breaking high
heels
On family
heads
Passing along
dining room sets
Where
windows reflect
What tables
must carry
When still
life art is put aside
To offer up
pride of decoration
