Please forgive a spurt of  unexpected crazed depression.  I’m glad it’s not a free night at dVerse, else I’d be embarrassing myself worse…

image: notquiteold.com  Nancy Romans

DOWN IN THE TRUMPS:                                                                                                           

A SPOOL OF THREAD IS GRASPABLE,

SOLID. IT COULD BURN, or SPLINTER,

EVEN ROLL ALONG A PLANE.  WHY

THEN  DO WE NOT WORSHIP IT?

SOME SPOOLS OF THREAD WERE HERE  BEFORE

US AND WILL BE HERE LONG AFTER.

SURVIVAL IS A WORTHY CAUSE.

AT LEAST IT’S WORTHY,  IS IT NOT?

THINGS HAVE THEIR OWN WAY OF BEING,

NONCHALANT, UNHURRIED, SEDATE.

WHAT WOULD IT BE LIKE TO WORSHIP

A SPOOL OF THREAD, EVEN EMPTY?

I’M SLIPPIN AND SLIDING TO THINK

SUCH THINGS, BUT AM BROUGHT TO WONDER

WHAT WORSHIP MEANS.  RESPECT FOR AN

OBJECT OF ESTEEM, WEBSTER SAYS.

AT LEAST YOU CAN TOUCH AND LICK IT,

SEE  AND HOLD IT, AND SNUGGLE UP.

BUT DO I ESTEEM IT?  MAYBE

AS MUCH AS ANYTHING, THESE DAYS.