*****.
Dot the i.
Cross the t.
If a *****
Is what
I need
To be
A *****
Is what
You’ll see.

Into the woods I go
To fall in love
With the coyote’s souls
And let them
Eat me whole.

I lock my fingers together by the joints like Lincoln logs, there is no "lacing" there. But that's awkward too... so I just return to shakily picking my cuticles to the beat and trying not to puke all over my lap and feet.