an overweight sawn eight in hexsplainmeter
when the horizon fails, fair lumber jacks wreak trees
create new wreathed view, gloves in hand, give a good squeeze
small labour ‘tis sharply wielded, done just to please
the court, but the cost of the undertaking, is sure to be seiz’d
mountains rise that men pasture, much is made of what is said
solitary evidence of laughter, no one remembers the song
that won’t keep up with the times, so it’s off to trial instead
the law’s an ass and a switch to gas, is what gets things done
fall can be a season, downing of a tree, the state of everyman
in this case, all three, divided twice, because that’s the way
we understand, wrapped in cloth or bare between the plan,
what cannot be explained, reason doth say: it pays the day
catch a man at play, let him beg to explain; then, you may say,
the knife in Billy’s back wasn’t big enough to do much anyway
Paper time
Paper is a Time Machine, but it only goes backward in time.
Don’t ask where it begins, I don’t know where to begin,
but I know when you read you’re transported back in time.
I’m certain of that, but not much else. Is it part of the pencil
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