I sit in the corner,
Drawing blanks and thanks,
Among brushes so loaded with hues.

I whisper the answer
To an invalid dancer who's strokes
Are ill-peppered with clues.

Reflections are daggers,
And purgings are spanners.
Too sharp or too dull for a muse.

Blue Phoenix reports
In that lackluster court,
"This defendant has no pleading to choose."