I haven't become I wait for

no Tuesday fortunes you
are that vast in that night too
or made of poor interiors
I fail to pledge lit
at every indentured turn
forest of lightened brashness
roughed to marred silhouette
it hurts too much to make do
no single pleased reason
what lies in fields un-mown cryptic lisp
these time and again eventual wings
two dollars for the first part where I have
she just you don't know with rows of iceberg
no one it'll all come to
no idea, no first day