Black, the engine shakes.
The spindle, worn with spinning, shudders;
red yarn breaks.

The crimson dye won't take.
A touch of hands, all bundled up in rubber
and black, the engine shakes.

He marks what he bakes
with curds, bright oil, and butter
while red yarn breaks

the signature in all his worst mistakes.
If you force the rudder,
black, the engine breaks

and, dependent on her slate, you will rake
off rain into the stringy gutter
where all red yarn breaks.

You never pass the sill if, black, you try to fake
your way in through closed shutters.
The red yarn breaks,
and black, the engine shakes.

-Tay

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http://www.tayarrowsherman.com/
http://www.olio-academy.com/

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