“I lost sight of love — a momentary lapse in consciousness perhaps. I grew sick of midnight callers attempting to garnish their whims with my cherries. I grew bored with countless unsuitable suitors. And the one’s who merely sought to climb my golden temple. Those unrequited touches. Cold hands, that know not the meaning of cries like ‘please’
and commands like ‘no’ . . .Hardened hearts, closed ears to the pleads and better judgement of their peers happenstancely wondering in I grew cold
like those hands. lifeless. weary of new hands”
and behind their stained glass
is a fountain—hidden in an abandoned lot
in a distant wood—which no longer runs,
because the motor has long since stopped pumping—rust has settled,
because upon the last tenant’s leaving those windows,
all but the two stained ones, were barred
the doors boarded——
the lot condemned—a sign smeared in cheap lipstick hung
“all who trespass
will be shot on sight—NO QUESTIONS WILL BE ASKED—
and buried under the steps.
Thank you kindly
and in advance for not trust passing.