after the roof caves in?;
when the ivy growing on the back door
becomes the poisoned kind again?;
when the porphyry breaks into pieces
that no one sweeps up?;
when the poems we write become facetious;
or when i think of how you tup?
is it so much to ask that you hide
your illustrious smile?
i cannot read when it's light out.
when you arise, i smell your pride
and your detached denial:
what do you have to be miserable about?