The thought that jumps from stem to stern
tying in knots, itself to learn,
the end, the pulse, the spark of life,
deep feelings felt, the sharp knife
of past regrets and future woes,
reeling in pain from imagined blows
of spite and stick, longings thick
with with sweet desire, what to pick?
I pluck and pull at emotion’s lyre,
which one for me will fuel the fire,
leave with bitter-sweet surrender,
summon Poe’s unseen censer,
satisfied in loss imagined,
heart’s sharp needs thus apportioned.