I have no more desire
My desire’s run through
I have no one else to tell
My colour’s turned blue
The unsteadiness of breeze
Rocks me as the aspen leaf
Thoughts of a ne’er-do-well
My riptide spurns its grief
I have the telegraph time
My rhyme’s still to choose
I haven’t a defining spell
My delectations are loose
The dull grey cloudy sky
Folds away as the thief
Tomorrow I’ll maybe dwell
My hope is thus so brief
This is the final poem from the pamphlet
Vagaries: Love of The Key to Room 149
