and we find ourselves falling into its pages
tucking ourselves between stanzas as silk
pillowcases. two days later we’re still here
three sheets to the (whirl)wind drunk
on phrase for another four days. gimme five
minutes and i’ll tell you each rhyme-and
-rhythm’d tale, the scale of it all in metered
(bare) feet. we could take it to the streets
busk it loose and free, but nobody’d believe
us. so just leave us here six, seven syllables deep
and we’ll scribble our way up, turn an eight
on its side and ride it all the way to infinity.
written for poetic asides November chapbook challenge.