Tilt-a-Whirl
A Poetry Sporadical of Repeating Forms

Crepuscule

I’m bounded by your framing-tale,
Quoted “black” when I say “white.”
Imprisoned with no chance of bail,
I’m bounded by your framing-tale,
A test I’m preordained to fail:
I clear the bar, you raise the height.
I’m bounded by your framing-tale,
Quoted “black” when I say “white.”