I drew the second third line
A first fourth one is on deck
Knew I inked them finely fine
Still, I go check and recheck
Marvelously filleted corners
Cleave an unsettling sound
Put compass back on paper
Just to make sure it's round
Anxiety was bound to happen
To the fifth first line I go back
Again, I sharpen and sharpen
But I give up, made it all black
Perfection is not my liberty
But a numb skin I wish to flay
Half of my mind seeks symmetry
Yet the other half
is in
disarray