Thursday, August 13, 2009

So-so . . .

To, with serendipitous glee,
And fro, with equanimity,

The godheads of the universes allow me
Carefree sanctity in this travel.

Who shot my cameraman,
Who made their own music?

No one could fathom the illness in the time
Of my sashaying amid the walls—

Superbly satisfied with my salary,
The rhyme no one cares to touch,
The rain no one comes to watch.

But, cynically, I burn with the
Bloggers . . . latching on to
A so-so insouciance.

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