I burned eight pans while I daydreamed in grief
I meant to cook my dinner while I wrote
My attention was too sparse,a narrow brief
I burned eight pans while I swam in deep grief
This war on objects makes my mind a thief
Where once love lived, I see his empty coat.
I burned eight pans while knocked about by grief
I tried to cook my supper I saw smoke
This war on objects
Published
