We write, we print,

his is no tattoo but a muttering quiver.


Now and now and now and now

ask when.


You say swallow, you sing,

words in flight and on foot.


Bah bum, bah bum.


Honestly, I’ve got more than fifteen lines already.

I swear, I swallow, I’ll sing,


just not,



in a space I crowd.


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