THE HIRING SALE :
Suitcase full for shells, Inside empty, Nothing but full of spells and make beliefs that I dwell, bow or a tie, loose with the shoulder with nothing to behoove, Sitting corner porch, open crotch with a light at the end of the smoke bud, sleepless eyes with thought of fame and meaning behind his eyes. Down on the luck's he said, better be a tommorow or no cheese on my bread. And there he sat, Wispier quiet, Alley lamp illuminating over his head. His shade slept that night, For what is seemed, for him, it was a perilous night. So to my readers who have a seeking out there for meaning, All I have to say to you, Good night.
