I never give up on a poem. Three words makes a quorum. Seven and I’m committed to the oceanic. I’m loyal like the Titanic. Others with more legal minds exercise judgment rapidly and with certitude. Not me. I’m compulsive. I think I’ve got a problem.
No putting the brakes on sounds. Cries, whispers, teasing, singing out, in, down, up, across, through and under every activity. Hello, hello, nice to see you! My good wife in the next room, tasting spleen: “Would you PLEASE take part in tonight’s festivities?”
I’m still paying child support on poems from five years ago. Imperfect? Yes. I add words here subtract there eventually