Four score and two

Lines – up to – indeterminate in length

What can I do, with four

Score and two independent personas, with no previous owners

Back lashed and smitten, is there a pup

In the canteen island,

Melons, collie, and me

Trying to get back to sea

Or a boat, floating seemingly aimlessly.

Lack of purpose is deliberate, conflagrations save the day

Hold sway in the constant hum of the drig.

This will not do, old boot, in which

Basalt brows fumble. Tumbing through the luke

Ingeborg said, indeed, twas no mean

Feet and mice, runs, step, come

To reason, treason, season,

Almost at the halfway mark my words

Frothing at the mouth with

Striving to forget everything dismembered,

Rendered inactive by layers of refoulement, mai dit

Slaves thrash on, coming to some conclusion

On the collusion, the agreed deal of power mongrelling

And unheard of liberties.

This, then, is what I would do if I were to do

What I would say if I were to say, what I

Never got my mind round that one, lone and spent, canny

And uncouth, any old

Way of moving forward, talking the walk,

Dragging my linguistic ass through the mire

Whatever to transpire.

Feeling the feel of the quantity, the volume, the purport and statement of the content of

Forty two lines forsooth. What can I do with up to forty two lines

In poetry major.

I can stop any time.

This does not have to go to the limit.

No.

It can stop short.

I can change from excess to incess