To embellish the pages of my book
Is to suddenly rectify the meaning,
Boulders of thoughts incite me
As I run the aim of my hour in beauty.
It is backgammon, it is powerful beauty,
Thoughts incite me, thoughts collide.
For backwards we run our aim,
And minor twins are attracted to
The attached party or what is family.
They have gyrated with the rosemary,
Felt essence of the whole crime,
Feeding themselves after the real pen work.
Then bedlam, then bedevilled,
Leaving us with plenty of work to do.
I see the book once written by stares
And half-blind men of invisible creation.
The band of men see us with eyes that glare,
Dim and chilly are the winds this day,
Dim and multi-dimensional.