But, no life to speak.
“Say what, dear?!... Let loose my hand!”
“Here’s pen and paper!... Get the thumb and hold, hold!”
(Enforced scribbles, cliché drops.)
…there won’t be fireflies tonight?
…the bright-eyed cat crying for food
has its daughter rotting in the gutter?
…fraternity is in the guilty eyes
that meet while avoiding the roadkill?
…I still don’t know life from habit?
Perhaps he felt “never mind”;
Or perhaps, the body did no more hold sense,
but instincts that
still loved home.