Marginalia

Perhaps if my longhand hadn’t stretched
to tear beyond repair my signature
I could compose on something smaller
than a billboard
A normal notebook now a postage stamp
cramps and grips me rampantly
And having gone under and twice,
deep into the ocean of my imagination,
suffice it to say I now conjure
a bit, smaller pond, to bait the verse
and amuse myself, with a sudden catch
and release