This Tipped
Wood,
she gazed across to their titanium towers
from her granite perch across the wide
fair and wandering
what's
written for her;
and her ladder rungless,
jake's steps swallowed up,
feathers pouring through
like ripe red sack
from defrocked casks as
dusk starts dining
on the day:
night's spigot --
this delirious inkpot
tipped.
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