This Chair

I’m sloughed in this old incessant chair
rocking to what I covet,
the dust designs my passage.
Dear chair, "If I pardon the footloose
will you sway a new me?"
Toe’s gripping carpet
amusing my bitterness,
the protégé of envy and jealously
has shackled my feet.
Legs crippled from fumbling,
fingers clawing armrests
I cleave to my trepidation,
unaware, that the majestic auctioneer has come.
I hear the steward of dreams
bidding away my withholdings, singing
farewell to despair, farewell to despair.
Crying, I grope the window pane.
Rising to his medley.
The cushions have changed form.