on my bare head
I’ve a tester bed,
& several stairwells
up in spirals —
there’s no restin’ here,
‘tho I’m branchin’ often
whilom (I should
know this) I’m only
lookin’ for an address
(& lunch, I’m promised
that); here, I’ll stop:
down on the floor (7c),
two o’ these, as you call ’em,
black-eyed greenhorns
on their bloody toes,
fidgetin’ their widgets &
cuttin’ my trousseau
ayaladn 