Wherewithout

I'm sunk within
a blank; you're tanking,

temperamental, though
everything peeled reveals

a tottering joy. Dollop
of no more, upping

the anterior: we're off
to the theoretical zoo.

Ever have I loved
our alibi—miscreants

hear it and swoon. The pen
tip hides in a lucite night

as its pigment skitters
and smothers the day.

Copyright © 2006 Mark Bibbins All rights reserved
from jubilat
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission