Got a shit ton of pay work tonight but my husband wouldn't let me use the laptop unless I wrote something for myself first. He is not my patron, nor does he patronize.
For My Patron
I could create cathedrals
From my breath, my fingers spires,
Ribs a nave before the altar heart.
My patron trusts stone.
I would use clay, scrabble
And mound the firm earth,
Shape it under a layer
Of slip, supple as flesh.
My patron has no faith
In this substance; he specifies
Block stacked on block.
I tried to respond to some of the interesting comments folks have been leaving, but blogger did some weird error thing with the comments recently. Perhaps it will calm down. I do really like to hear the comments. I also need to write about 20 different things, but the bell just rang--back to the pay work!