‘tis it freedom,
still,
from the hand
not thine own
but those owed-
to those
of borrowed bestowed
and so,
it goes
the poets pay price
which can hard afford,
not much
indeed,
quite little
unless a soul
weighs heavy
countering gold

‘tis
it freedom
when the owed
scheme the owing
(poor souls)
while their knowing
holds second
to dumb and trusting

is
it
freedom?
to know
that it
did not
as you’d thought was known
alone no longer
an option
for all the wishing
and a-wanting
are from those
to yet come after