Elijah brings home a turkey and I miss the opportunity

Climbing down the abruptive mountain of tissue and regret,
lost incursive blemishes of daunted staples like apples and porridge
where we lost too much money on temporary groceries
and did not have replacement surgery for the doctored income
of tailored taxed intentions that leave us bereft of ceremony or candle lights.

However, you were a fast one, singing with the tenor plain allegro spokeswoman
tending to a para-maze denouncement like shattered list of hunger, starvation,
and no way to ask for help, because everything sacred is free, except essentials
for living. What we need to keep on the table is not free. What we receive in pay
is insufficient, like cancer swabs in the morning to clean your face, no ache, no food.

There is no begging for my generation, or yours. We were not taught to ask to for help.
We bleed uncertainly and argue diminished lines like theatre for the countered absurd ointment
of the dying cursed spokeswheel of a resurrection that only some will recognize as learned.
Let us not be glad this afternoon, but waste like a salad not eaten quickly enough, not herded
or pinted like arbitrary detritus hymnals upon the chariot skies, leaving a chair out just in case,
Elijah may arrive and bring a slaughtered turkey. Oh, how I have dreamed with we would
have had less concerting matters to discuss. To be simple. But nothing is simple. Nothing is bruised.