And so I lie upon this bedroom’s carpet
Littered with fluff, dust, O, snapchat from Harpiic
Received at sev’n p.m, what does it say
I wonder? Ever ‘tis I do proclaim
Shall not I be inclined to soon reply.
This end of week have I so named empty
For want of songs of ice and fire aplenty
Clasped in my hand, my eyes will drink, I’ll sing
My mind a vessel for their tuneful ring
Reverberating round. My gaze is bent
To dancing, sodden fields and merriment
Enjoyed by others, none less so than she,
Who welcomes one who shares such song I bleat,
Into mine own home for with me to meet.
He’ll sing and dance as they do, like a slave
A puppet to desire. My look, grave
Enthralled to this script and form and verse
With scarce room as in a fat man’s hearse.
But who is left to blame but I alone?
I made my choice and you made yours I know
‘tis I who writes and lies on fluffy debris
Whilst you twirl, O not so steadily
And while I scribble, the guises put on
And shed, achieve a certain end, common
Ground, which is to blunt the edge and make norm
Which you do with liquid, and I with form
And so we veil the vulgar in the vague
And from ourselves and others truths do save