Binary

I want words to draw out deftly, As batter, Pitcher-poured downward Toward a warming skillet; As thread, Spinning, chasing the needle’s tail: A perfect line; As Paul Chambers’ bowed bass In his Ahmad’s Blues solo.

And so there is sage. A modest altar to the muses. Ritual. Indiscriminate prayer. Frequent pacing.

Yet each letter’s labored, Each line a bar fight. I think we’re dealing With too many options.

I’m rebranding as a poet in binary, Bound at once by only Ohs and Ones.

10010010011001001001 01101101100110110110 Is all I ever wanted to say.