mourning

this poem is a bucket
of dirty soapy water
that cleaned the floor

accepting the evening

quiescent
advesperate
soulfullofgrace
end of day

wrath

the whites are
temporarily
pink

red run rampant in the wrong wash

acedia (sloth)

with horrifying clarity
I have come to realize that I am only fit
to live with my mother

internets

alone in the glow
sitting clicking wishing for
connectedness to

avarice

you have always been
embarrassed
by your own efforts

+

this has been
compounded
by your efforts
so often coming to
_____________

naught