I question weather systems of poets
and what’s the difference between a line a Barr and me
a women met before under the pantile street
scene after scenic scene.
if we were locked in a crowded room
is this not just a padded cell under a microscope
And would you be able to tell me
from which tree that apple fell.
cast aside a blank script as we turn a wheel
to the tide in a deadlined margin.
As the dancing sun patterns across
seven other timesheeted days that were lost
and alas a lonely moon drawn in the snow
Until the melt.
the dog howls and hides beneath
as we break even to lost despair
aspirations left in this field of fresh air
that you tugged and we let go off.