Poem: full fathom five (someday i’ll lie)

i wrote a book, and when it was done – when i had the first one,

i took it up to my brother’s place.

it sat on the table all weekend – and no one said anything.

a new book probably didn’t know it had to compete with a new house – and couldn’t

of course. so didn’t.

it would have been nice if my brother had cracked

the spine, turned a page, he might

have seen a …