The Joy of Writing

Shivers tap the spine: embossed etymologies
of the eponymous protagonist. I said, "Full
sentences won't be served, as the privileged 
paragraph parasites eat commas by the semi."
Quoth heaven: forever's in store for larger
crows, cursed to urbane brick laid existence.
I say, Yea! Undefined Morgenthau, old deals
overcooked and a scheme for permanent 
desiccation, shout your happiness to the
letter, legal scholars referenced. I say, blithe
accent markers feather trees as we pine for 
nests. That's an internet for your search,
arch fish, all tangled up in the serrated 
bread loaf, tell me who and how I am!
I ask you, words, where did you come 
from and who made you what you are?
I am a substrate made of you, the second
person's third in a duel to the life. We may
not see the light in the side door, though 
tunnels be porous. Say not what's right!
That's for my left hand to say and for
translators centuries hence to find out;
aggrandizement and memoir hubris!
Frailty and wishes which won't be so
begging at the priest's open window:
find my sins and sing forgiveness, and
I swear to false god, hail mary won't 
become a colloquialism for football,
dead pigs and hope. Bray! May the 
end become mean while the beginning
continues to love as a puppy eats; fervent 
sweaty feast, festival of passive deciders,
may Writing ascend to the Capitol Steps,
coming in piece to remake marble in the 
image I hope you see when we both make
a shard, a hook, and a hearer.

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