I had thought
What I wrote last night
Would allow me to write this morning
When I looked at the inked pages
Marred by ropy trails drawn from a cylinder's tapered end
And saw what I had done
I realized that I erred in my thinking
Dare I show in light of day
The workings of my right hand's motion
Back and forth
Splattered
?
Is it a thing of which I should be proud
That I have worked a piston
And gotten fluid from the tip?
The callow youth does as much
And to as much effect
My fluids have engendered
Things of which to be proud
Sometimes
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