To describe deficiency is cruel,
But if the shoe fits, where is it? I call
Myself "mayor of a lost town," "j**el
Of forgetfulness," and "the smell of fall."
Wherever I travel, I am engrossed
By monolithic objects that may hide
My longevity in theirs. When I crossed
What I thought was a border, I denied
Myself what I didn't want, but wanting
What I couldn't have, I was astonished
By the encroaching fear of not knowing.
At last I found shoes. I had them polished
Again and again, till they were worn. This
Is how it goes. All wine ends up as piss.