Kicking over the Traces

blinkered by formal training counting bright abacus beads of syllables mindful not to step on cracks— rhythm is everything the audience c h e e r s !!! the runner-up jeers— maybe next time the nexus of … the bows and brasses displayed along with my bruises an abacus of pearls c.a.s.t on w a t e r that drowns out the h-o-o-f-b-e-a-t-s of a P O U N D I N G heart a trace of desire slated at the font of knowledge concurrent with my past laurels I bow to your discerning palate— you clap for REPETITION repetition r e p e t i t i o n but I do not rest unlike Keats my NAME is not writ in w a t e r …