16. a lifetime of debt

Turquoise grove.

wobble of the jarred routine;
seems like utmost not to tip
what is this but troubled sleep
a burning bed to rumble in

as on the lucent cavern wall
flickers a thousand fancies' hent
whose urgings like bad conscience haunt
though moiling cark in parallel

& i, as if an agent, work
into my whispers, crash & snarl
of that great world whose makings hurl
beyond & above, in plumbless dark

oh let me in my own mind dwell
& to my own despair belong
if nothing better zephyrs bring
or t'ward this place, but vermin crawl