Fingers

I'm like him

This fallen Wordsmith 

I can't build a ruddy shelf

It would spill 

The broken pot 

My words are smithed 

Like coffee tables 

Rough as guts 

They come unglued 

Wobbly legs 

Badly joined 

Chiseled and burnt 

By a drunken monkey 

I join up lines 

Without a measure 

Nail them down 

With rusty screws 

This is my song 

These are my fingers 

Those were my kisses

Breaking the lamp.

2016