In these hours—too much slack.
In these hours, not enough “not enough”.
Choked child-bride; grunt-army-groom,
remembered shock (the heart on, up).
Filtered gilt portraits, blinds spilling late.
After antique lock/lighters enflame noon
generous scissors dance by a drab river-
view. A definite gripe against
finite balcony’s speech, unappearing—
the single-bed rest, on doubly malted lips.
Not to be Character, damned
we may seem.