Not quite done. Turns out. A turn. Turns. Not quite. A note. Notes. In terms of hope pinning. Demonstrably so. Listen to waves of not quite. And crash against. There are breath lines and breadth lines of influence and it’s hard to. Fucking ghost. A ghost. Ghosts. That’s all they do. Spring and reel around gerunds. Aghasting. Lung haul. Ways in. Strike it. A chord. Chords. When you clearly, demonstrably so. When you so. Melody. And though you should. Draft it. Please. Just draft it. We could sullen our way. Pine it. When there’s never a need to resort to prose. Not even. And it’s hard to pin it. Down it. A pin. Pins. And it means something down. To even risk a not quite done. Not sure if it can be parsed. A gift. Gifts. Not divine of course. Just. Adjust. There’s too much to fashion. The manner in which. A manner. Manners. Sprint it. Would settle for trudge. Just move. Just. Fashion it. A fashion. Fashions. Something choral. Risk it when the home rattles. Almost tune. A risk. Risks. When the score doesn’t quite yet. Just. That. Adjust. When the dream won’t die despite years of not quites. And yes. Not quite done. And not quite. Something here though. Something close to effort. Your part. So dependent on parting. And so pinned. Now there’s this song you know you know. It’s just a draft. It’s good though. Loop. Very good. Compose. A symphony. Positively symphonic. So. A draft. Drafts. There. Absolutely there. Very much. Quite done.
Jon Paul Fiorentino
1 May 2014