THE FORM OF LOSS DRESSED UP TO GO  EVERYWHERE

The Form of Loss dressed up;
In the first smell of rain,
To decorate profit in black,
With a plan too chartless,
In the eleventh hour cry of life
Creating routes, following every wind,
Climbs rocks, stands aimfully in fields,
Bikes through the familiar catalogues of common things
Steps in to clatters of debits and credits,
Rests on the inevitable genius of worldly 'Why?'.
The Form of Loss walks through
A piece of everything twice upon a time;
Smashing smashing necessity's desire
But never joins the undulating queue.
The Form of Loss ,
At the end of each successful venture
Tastes pure water from Sources....