Poem Peninsula

One step at a time.
Down stairs that sing diagonal
ballads in autumnal tongue.
Bell rung. Books, hope I sell
1. Is my game going 2 end with
Same waves? Rain in wait, bane
To gate. My brain, new straight..
Weather pattern, just teasing a
Writer. Wish I had enough to
Speak in a vacant glass. Arrive
To expectation’s plate completely
Famished– empty like an abandoned
Carboy. Reinvest my lines. But how–
Need surgery. Poet under construction.