one for marco. unfortunately winter makes us think of poetry.

enjambment

the period key on my laptop is broke
thus you must trust that the dots are there
every line ends where it ends
there is no enjambment
none, not a bit, not a single bit
the units of sense are well-separated
sentences straddle themselves
no verse ever leaves its place
then you can imagine where it finishes
it happens when the poem's done
that is where you envision its ending
you must dream of a great period
then, you can forget about it, for good