At Home Detailing [poem]

I'm at home

detailing

the curtains with little
teensy
weensy
dabs of yellow paint -

all the while the dark cloak turned
spinning and stopping
and
stooping
for some little thing -

I'm at home again,
detailing
my comb with

microfractural

cuts -

and all the while the dark cloak turned
spinning and stopping
and
stooping
for some little thing.

(I'm at home

again

detailingeverysingleinfinitesimalaspectofmy

life)

Alms for the Dead [sonnet]

This is an old work I found sitting in my laptop. I finished it and polished it a bit. Enjoy. :D
------------------------------------------

Many are those who give alms to the dead,
Full of declarations of friendship they.
For these were the things they had left unsaid
To the rotting, frozen corpse of today.
Feelings that were restrained deep down inside
Gush like an awakened river at spring
For there will be no more reason to hide
To those whom the small birds no longer sing.
Trite are the words for a corpse can't discern;
Squandered is the praise foer a corpse can't feel;
Pity for those whose ash lie in the urn
For they had never felt anything real.
What little time is given, waste it not
Lest you be o'ertaken by the rot.