Few things are perfectly level
the devil's in the entirety
of nails, screws and bowed boards
no two pieces fit
without a breach, without a bent
or hint of coercion
the surface ever slowly weeps
gravity sleeps in the buff
dust, polish and white lies
every arc and angle yearns
to fall extended, to meet content
with infinite degree
ambitious shelves
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
0 comments:
Post a Comment