Nothing is so foremost a despair
as having nothing at all left to do:
Reflection sits upon so-much (of) room & stares
over The Least & Few--
Among Mortality's self-monologuing verbs
a mirror (of kindness) calms my nerves
by multiplying me
--& two measured cups of tea--
What echoes then against Reflection's awe
is but the empty words I spoke
(Now, was it a million years ago?...
Certainly... ) before the mirror broke
O Humanity! a mushroom is
growing in Nature's uncleanest shoe
& not that famed Fabulous Abyss
with (a) penthouse view