i'm not worried
about it wither
wane wand threshold
tune trimmed hellhole
the dirty doored studio
nor should you worry
about the weaver
whether or not
the weather changes
to morrow to day to never
the flawed floored floor plan
inside jokes with outside
jackets june bug joints
lit with wick windless
winding strand standing
stalled on the side
of the imploded ediface
the fresh desktop stop
don't be furious
with it wither it like flowers
and skin over bones
brandy dashed stones and rocks
falling over clefts and cliffs
the tall tall edge of the world
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