Weekend lilt, shivers run tremulously 

Sporked tine cut once, twice in liver, tendonlessly

Mind sprints past finish line, rounding again

Imperfect narrows tweak ankles of grounded men

Routine unseating, chairs act musically

Woods wind around upset mind heedlessy

Action! Clapperboard rings out in the after-hours

While the crew sleeps, boxed and slotted in their towers

Fizzled frustration sets clockhand forward

Waking time squandered, eking, creaking between floorboards

Nothing new has come from the thronged fray

But a dried-up film over Massialot’s brûlée