February: Year-day 51

 
                                             
                                          
February: Year-day 51

Numbers all night, words all day, my brains work
harder than most people would care to have
theirs work, and auditing isn't a salve
or vitamin for any decent quirk
I have, not near the ways poetry is.
I make a living from it for my wife
and myself; and signed-for future goods knife
gently enough from it; but I won't fizz
in my three brains, or my spirit, or heart,
nor bubble, nor least of all suddenly
gusher--as I do when words form the base
I apply or swallow; from which I start:
to heal what sores and cuts appear on me,
to strengthen from within/ my persons' face.

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