Friday, May 18, 2018


Having forgotten the name
For the catch piece of the poem,
Fiddle possibility.

There’s a mechanism there,
A thinguhmabob,
A little hook like a nob

That releases the clenched spring
And there’s your surprise,
Artfully designed.

Or there’s not. There is, of course,
There has to be, but there’s not,
Not such that it stays in place.

The hidden hinge is moving.
The mind must move to spring it.

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