the rankle of leaves

Have the beasts answered your
call yet    have the morsels of
hate braided a future of

cannot-dos  haven’t-the-times
lots-a-stuff-been-hanging-on
-them-toes?    the rankle of

leaves ranges from coast to
skin and leaves your breath a
quantum step away from the

reach of pen    the quills
remember the time when each
stone was one melt away from

I.