It's not like you can fix everything
so it's best to leave it
to something that can do it while you're writing
so fast that it counts the letters
and lets you know when you've erred
it heals itself.
It's not like you can take to wing
soaring above the vast whiteness
of snow or paper or ash
spewing out pollution like the newspaper ink
that stains the fingers of the intellectual
carving signs that can be read from space
there was someone to read them.
A conciseness you meant to bring
to the table; a projection of invulnerability
because it doesn't matter how wrong you are
the problems will fix themselves
not in the direction you might have chosen
or with the plaster you carefully mixed
but an almost repair that leaves a ridged scar
a place to rest your finger
a memoir of the ability
to heal thyself.