Was this a predetermined thought,
Constructed in an unfree mind--
A trot line strung where fish are caught
Without a well cast lure to find.
Loose words sift through a poet's hand--
They scar the skin like god's own hooks,
As if there were a master plan
That could inspire a patchwork book
Begun with what was deadly banned,
Unknown within the naked world
Until the slanted word's command
Suggested sacrifice endured.
Some better line deserves this place,
Wedged tight in this most thoughtless
                                                              space