I reckon so that in this case unfaithfulness is far from being feet of clay.”
“Having derailed my own tramway,
I shrivel, no I pine away.
And so do all the forms of life shipwrecked to this secluded cay.
The void engulfs, it won’t allay.
The former discomposure, its clench light, I couldn’t but parlay.
Into this instability I’m ready to segue.
Salute a newly minted castaway,
The point-blank pestilence of latter-day.”