Tea and Sympathy

This thick tar tea
Speaks to me  of
Warm   innards and
Security, its hot

Liquid runnels
Fervently endow
An  outline of
Glow  to an otherwise
Thin black shadow

Straining at the
Charcoal  edge of itself
That bleakly jutts and hauls,
Keeping  faith, the
Breakable pane, the
Pale slice of residual
Pain that I am

Staving-off tomorrow's  maul and
The  sleety november rain oozing
Dread  and drenching its wet
Chilly breath it
Profanes  the narrow alleyways
Where  no  light comes.

Eyes  are bleary, hope swings
So  low it nearly fails. I am
Spliced pale and wan
Bone-worn   and clearly burning
Down,  almost gone  with
Spent  exhaustion, my

Corseted  soul is tightened
As  if mere knots would
Hold  it, stiffen it, give it
Back  its backbone, but
Almost  done  its tallow elbow
Jutts  and fizzes, tries to
Haul  its frame upright - it

Strives to be pillared
But such a sight: pale
And  sallow
More  ill than it knows, it is
Bleary-eyed and burning  low,
Scuppered  and spreading fast, its
Spending wick  is
Nimble  in defeat, flickering
As  it tries to reclaim a tiny
Wavering  light to stave-off
The ruck  of its life.

Such  small hands
To  starve the flame
Of  its origin. Overhead
Rain oozing dread, drenches
The fool with chill breath -

Such  dark alleyways, sides
Steep and strong  as cliffs
Where  no  light comes
And  nothing comes  to rescue it
Yet it lives.

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