us steers across the wind landscape,

 

in your pen and computer letter you write that I
I must be crazy
showing rare insight for a 'poison' as Bugs Bunny would say
of the editorial cloth
in your bleak staccato script you bell that
your overly white office is now verily strewn with them
like moths
no, worse than moths, like

are you thinking
right this moment
for an analogy??

you
hung
from
the
ceiling
sillily
gaffed
on
your
cute
butcher
shop
meat
hook