mulberry nobble

She has nit incommodious intent
around the towns of stalk and preclusion,
negating blame and fresh water fingers,
plucking commands from isolated stems,
soldering residence with gracious fatigue.

She is a high-rise below a bunker,
a relegated memory to parting windows,
dull utensils and figures of clay.
She makes herself an empress for small mounds,
and a person of intrigue for a low price.

She is astonished, in perpetual doubt,
a docent to barren hallways, removing frames,
removing prisoners etched by pencil on the walls
of stative legislature. She appeals, she
guides the hems of her envy with movie nights
and tea.

She is a small wind instrument singing to my stomach,
an obtund trait for somatic pitches,
a stoat uniform for broad benches,
readymade shelters and bird house trousers.