#2,631 A Tower & a Rug

This no longer blank
in-fill tower of Babel
stands before you – I
unfurl my runner – a
rough vowel-weave –
a mat of adjectives &
itchy underfoot – see
how it curls at ends –
See – it will not quite
reach that bare inch
as it lays itself on my
tongue-tripped floor
on which you step – I
look out from a high
place of recollection
[built on piled regret
& others’ mis-truths]
& watch her mistake
this mere verse-folly