Here's how I used to think
you made a book:
a poet comes along,
mouth half open, inspired,
then suddenly the idiot bursts into song -
fancy that!

“A chestnut-haired childCheering up, wentand stood in his stall.And took the who…”

“Formerly I believed books were made like this: a poet came, lightly opened his …”

“Gentle souls!You play your love on the violin. The crude ones play it on the dr…”

“If you prefer, I'll be pure raging meat, or if you prefer, as the sky changes t…”