Parading amongst the hollowed stacks
of boiled books and cataracts,
a busy bee or Burt Blue-Green
covers the books and magazines.
Dirty, keyed fingers and mouse and screen,
Buddha, black with smithareens,
coffee-maker, you belong to me,
must cast all out with a feather's beam.
Sitting silent, queer, and cool,
quaffing coffee, keep back my drool,
but it drips, desperate, bored, and lonely,
and drenches through my moving pictures-
Must always think, "If Only, If Only."
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