[back]Wordbirth Breach Words crunch and crack Against ice popsicle fingers, Strain and starve My shipwrecked pencil. Damn! My Barrel resting blank Against a swish selected Stenciled cradle notebook, Waiting for a water Break in wasted morning writing play. Disciplined, my craft tops Smooth crest rivers Cartwheeled over words. Distracted, my voice coughs Up shells and broken glass— Polluted, useless tide. Poet's physics [once in motion] Stays my Hand, begins from Dead Start Still… Momentum is the middle child. My pen-tied orphan stands her ground.