-Barking at feet in wet cement while trying to slosh around in it
-Nothing certain, nothing far
-No stainless gambit
-With conspicuous scars
-A pointed spoon at a citrus buffet:
bittersweet, then bitter, then great
-Lonesome jubilee
-Not hapless, motley
-Lastly, evident in our languid moments
I have so sewn a sinking feeling to my wheel of weal and it’s constant wheeling
Around on an axis to leave me beset with the only thing I consider a threat:
Hubris