Barton's Gin or Don't Steal Our Dog or I've Broken So Many Things

Sick of sticky

wickets, you've

eaten the last of.

How “this bag

was full!” can shame

the hunger right

back in. Mention

what means again

to send my yawn

over to another's.

Just let me touch

that one part of

the party to thieve

my way into an inner.

Slave the sky into

your mouth more to say

say say. I take

up this spade to do any

-thing but work the

ground. My spade.

Folding the field

is our job, shepherds.

To be without.

To mean without.

To say without.

To love without.

A dirty window's

apprentice. A broken

mirror still one

broken mirror.

Me, then,

or I, a door

without walls—child

of a rolling head.