In the Hatch, I Sew a Stair

Waiting to will a Sunday to Al

As he dresses for ill, trying to pull my veil

In the evening, the Sun is fine; the day still a long view to be

To the rejoice of Monday, the Moon has been around, being a fish, a fool, a fiend.


Whether I pull a trick, or a trigger, to offset the news

It rains as it trills, and reads past the onset, working of the irks set.

A token till a passing burl can recover the last lease

I stand still in my airs’ plunge as it pushes for a purge


I’ve been reading a little too often.

Into the sullen crude caught, who shackled because he got outwitted

But all I pursue is my evening dial to push the number through

Returning to the ledger, to privy the lady by the door; Maybe she’d thrilled.


He estranges a pale pivot in my heart

Vile, he is wretched, and wrecks awhile path

In my evening aerials flying through the T.V, he indulges

I still have to convince myself of the dull aches dallying to be free


Outworked, outdone and an hour pale of the blue Sun

Written across the eased up shore

Watering a willow, vapours off the aloe vera

A vapid river runs through off the writs I try to undo


In mean, the time reels off to borrow a hushed whistle

I plough my grey hustle to outlive the busted bristle

Once it shaves off the showers, it shoves a shrewd shiver

Outpacing ace in the deck, the joker stands along the jack, unflushed, unflustered.


© Prateek Joshi and WordPress, 2017

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