The Nature Of Technique

These hands cannot use quill and ink,
nor carve a blade from sharp-beat flint;
So few among us can skin a cat
and yet we dream of our delinquent arts;
oh, if only, without our work,
our daily bustle and daily groan,
if only we could throw off this yoke
what lovely craft we’d make our own;
oh, if only,
if only

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s