With back straight,
Í asked you, “do you try hard too?”
The snow reduced me to pencil,
Bleeding out my pens proper.
Wondering about that table of six í auto-gratted
in the Tavern five years prior.
My lead cracks.
And then í find,
one pen left in my fold.
Between run and go.
A dash of dalliance
Unconcerned with with prose that came before
Her hands would shake?
Ledges are not only
but also for leaping.
They told me “no.” Which is always within rights, but í was left confused.
Í cannot remember asking anything
Play your vinyl
Remove the album sleeve.
Put your diamond down, glasscutter.