Poets ad
Ore a mann
Equinn, a form
To 
Rest the dress
You made on
*
Draping the fabric
Let your hands push firm the pins
And see how it falls
*
The scissors shine like diamonds 
Little cuts make little sense
Slice it rather into pieces 
Trim it down until you wince

When you finally find the statement
Stand far back, see what you’ve made
Then consider what you might have done
If you were not afraid

If another never knowing
Who you were could see this tomb
Would they find the cavern empty
Or you sitting in the room?

Open wide the brain that builds it
Loosen up the bonds that bind
Arrange the words like draping
Let a reader roam your mind

*or*

There once was a girl from Kentucky
Who considered herself pretty plucky
She loved the absurds
Caused chaos with words
And it made her laugh, isn’t that lucky!