Circles of timber ridge, shakes around

horned gate, hushed whispers and shrunken

state, he tries sitting on a sweaty floor.

fifty bucks or five cents, vacant toils

heavy sighs, touch of murderous paws!

"Remark again with flatten tongue," and the claws

fiercely works, as the hand of innocent child's

his tongue slips out with vigorous laugh!

Broken spring, whips rust — clings hard and curls to snap.

forty eight, he isn't breathing

forty nine, let's start cleaning

one hour, past fifteen — a shallow anchor

trying to peer, peel the shades— he isn't waking up

grips the stick once more, knock on wood!

it's sweet six, game of tricks

psalm of nocturnal smells,

smells of dust and cologne, evaporates

chestnut twist, "Paper rose for a beautiful lady!"

past nine, he strides

she smiles with feeble eyes,

leaves her little den, leans again!

chained freedom!