It Fits Me Like Gloves

I was in jail for a hundred years

Fishing without hooks

Among librarys of pretty girls

And no help from the books

They kept us moving in tight, worried ways

Spirituality whatever else it may

To put these minute parts together

I would sacrifice so many pieces

To give something so private

For anyone to see

Makes me wonder the quiet

Of what is to be

2020 By David Jacobi