We say the same things but do not always
Agree; argue with words until out of
Line. Someone must decide what comes and what
Goes; take the axe towards the lyric tree.
Light, swift as a cow’s tail across its rump,
Came. Said I. Beckoned me go, who was gold,
Gathering rust in a small back-end town.
That was it. Exactly as each word fell.
And the shortest. Meek. Made the loudest bang.
The manifold sound of that ringing out
We cannot agree on. How long on each?
Someone should go and put an end to it.