dangerously avoiding grading

THIS FAILING NIGHT WON’T BE THE LAST

TOMORROW TRY AGAIN

We start a stroke—and lightning

quickens on, or maybe

not. Lights out,

stout candles

lit. I’m sorry

this is not—no, never—working.

On Gabriel and Stephane play—sonatas and

bright moon. Still,

patience waning. This will last—

eternities till Tuesday comes.

A. B. C. all three or one.

Some good men

cast themselves well

in these sonata shadows.

I may not

be one of them, but

you.. well,

are you?

imagine this without the double spaces. one of the poems i've written while getting as far away from grading as possible... hmph.