I pull an inch
on every scroll
Same old scraps
by day I bring it
while I dream of naps
I haven't got
within a shout of balance
how the hell did I
so badly
screw up my valance
a scrap of this
a scrap of the other
big ideas float through
throw up my hands
oh brother
will I ever
sew this patchwork
into something that can cover
are there scraps left
of the fighter
of the poet and the lover?
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