They ask for more free verse, Ironically I ask for freedom. Turn yourself, the sun faces west, Learn your self looking into distance, A poem of story, rhetoric important. He just tells of lions and beasts, Ire and deceit, lies succinct, Are my poems of heart not complete, Even if truth is too foolish to be? Future hard to see, a pence to me, Fences mended where darkness meet, A dense man where the larkin leap, Without them where would we be? A garbage heap, a fence two feet, A garbage pile, a fence of three, A garbage life, spend barking of time, Not mine but others, I covet. My duvet stained with oil, lovely, When was it worth more, white forlorn Or in a pile on the floor disgusting?