I am not Jack Gilbert

My lungs did not taste
steel spit grime. It
was easy, carpeted
basement early. I am
therefore early, fussy,
oriented toward un
furling even my
stale sails. The 
sun appears as
out as I appear
to see. Eros, for
me, curious. My
appeals to memory
turn the game wheel
without peeling the
apples of my eyes.
Today, the wind
wills the pines to
stand down. Most
do not.