Sonnet 100:

Muse.
We have tangibility subtracting song
— work converted to argument
with little or no honor.

But it adds up. Numbers, if any, spoil everywhere. This time
we don’t have to see you
get the job done. You’re faster than time.

We forget that’s why esteemed actuaries went
unmoored. Affection is idly vicarious doing what’s graven here. Vicarious just isn’t crooked
enough. Fame and skill redeem your fury within what accounts spent,
a despised waste of life like satire, if not, the survey said.