Hewn Edges

The shorn are worn
by the shovelorn
committed to commissions
and pitted by fissions;

What's together comes apart
semi-hold-on wordy art
tart as nails and hammer
searching for a stale bread
cracking, lurching;

Fallow shields won't stop
the mulling, bullet points
and all the culling, pulled
like weeds from chest-deep
haughty naughty faithless
jaunty dandies;

Lions crease and lick
their pages, marginalia 
macrophages where the
viral snippets fly to trim
the spirals, prep & dry.