It
Wasn’t
Wit
I told a myth.
Or wrote it.
A myth-take
happened
when I wept
all over it (
actually, I
just spilled
a glass of
water). And
from such,
whatever
remains,
comes: It
wasn’t
even
a
screw.
Who
said
what
LOVE
GIFTS
are?
Like a
whinny
for a
crab-
apple,
the un-
explain-
able is
like that.
Van Dyke,
come back
you dark
knight,
come
look at
what
you’ve
done to
the daylight.
The teevees
with which I
chalk the
sidewalk
certainly
won’t be
a fit sub-
stitution.
Who
wrote
that?
I love
horses.
