you're alone,
the worse it is
to be disturbed.
There you were: fathoms deep
inside your mind palace,
set before
a perceptual
feast just for one
and raising
a chalice to the lack
of observation,
when along comes
some beggar, knocking
desperate at your door,
as if it were
conceivable—let alone
a desirable action—to share
one's isolation—as if
the desolate depths
of your loneliness
could be plumbed
and abated by a little
conversation.
