craft & consequence


the wishbone of craft is deft 
with smoke from heaven's shop

of horrors; it is quick with
lament, slick with growth of

antiquity, prime with filial
foul, lush with trope & rime

the poem needs the pen and
not just the paper or else the
paper would write itself and that
is just silly; are you the pen or
the paper and can you wish otherwise?

if craft be your portal to open spaces
can you switch and pick one of the
children, feed her and let her grow
so that she feeds you? if craft could
answer that, you would feed many orphans.

listen, the red ant of tarred
pallor bawls

a screech, an ounce of astute
gammas and

poseidons launch theatrical
stunts of

very little consequence, but
the dance

goes mindlessly, mindfully on.