Boiling Cauldron

Dressed to three nines but upside down

with slender fingers and shallow pockets.

Altruism’s not a strong suit well adorned

even while the seams are coming unstitched.


A crumbling foundation found in fiasco

hidden behind a smoke screen veneer.

The son can’t shine beyond debasing shadows

as the center of self glares blindingly clear.


The resources fated, habitually sated,

every penny in its wrongful due place.

Any dime dropped will roll straight through the grates,

with every spent nickel a billowing disgrace.


Familial lines drawn and stretched way too thin.

Breaking point buffered by litigation.

Momentum only quelled till time to begin

moving in the direction of mitigation.



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