Honestly,
I never
much enjoyed reading back
The poems I wrote, darkened and black,
Week in and out for that poetry class.
Have I abandoned meter now? Alas!
I do not know.
Don’t tell me which way this ship will blow.
This tired metaphor’s about to set sail,
But I have brought a glass and pail.
The pail’s to bail myself when I begin to sink,
The glass is for when I begin to think.
June 18
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