if his head touched the pillow he would have died
so he wrote instead but there was no tune
no tune to croon for the words he made
“looks make the fellow,” some looker cried
so he hid instead but there was no room
no room to prune for the life he made

years rolled into the tomb
& he smiled a bloodless smile
“better shut me that window,” he said
then wrote some more
but what for

if he skipped on the bellows he would have flied
but he sunk instead & there was no room
no room to swoon for the lull he made
“taste life’s harsh marrow,” some taster cried
so he starved instead & there was no tune
no room to croon for the lack he made

laughter rolled into the tomb
& he smiled a bloodless smile
“joy’s an abstraction,” he said
then cried some more
but what for

if he plunked on a cello he would have sighed
but he frowned instead & there was no room
for croons to tune with the face he made
“hang on these gallows,” some hanger cried
so he did just that & there was no noon
just gloom in the room & the life he paid

death rolled into the tomb
& he smiled a bloodless smile
“where’ve you been all my life,” he said
then hung some more
but what for