Cleaning on a Sunday Afternoon

And I’ll find a way to work
through the layers of deceit
to dig an excavation of wayward
delusions entrapped beneath us all.

As we ceremoniously rupture
the mortal receptors given
before birth, destroying
the sheer lining of living content
and never willing to say the words
nearly spilling from a fountain
of jagged half truths.

And the swooning snows slowly
covering the basket weaved welts.