117. Why? (Myshkin, 2021) · couplets

Never fold again. Who’s yours to keep?! It’s dawning day—yet dark is deep... It seems unsightly, insight gnawing, now. Who cares that butterflies still don’t know how? Who chose this hand I hold within my feet? Whose victory makes my defeat complete? I play with fire. Water grounds the sky, I might be leaving, leaking, learning why. The alphabet is friendly—can’t you see? It tells me tales (how dragons came to be) And birthdays never get the full repair, More drones than ever hustle through the air. There’s nothing to declare, Bukowski writes. The tiny Irishman comes back and fights Because, why not?! Let’s leave it all behind, Embracing limitations of this mind.