Oh Binomial One

You've poeted

your fingerprints

all over dry ink

that's spilt

and dripped

    .

...Is this it?!

Not another drop?

Nothing yet

...to Right?

...to Wrong?

...just Belly up

    after all...?

    .

1 O 1 Oh One

more digital dot

    .

You are Not

a writer

in a stable

Our host at the

drafting table

    .

...Where's their Toast?

Not tossed poison

which still burns

...proud chests

...that Rose

...and fell oh

    long ago...?

    .

O 1 O 1 Oh One

more wretched blot

    .

Rip the past to hell

If it'd clear the

writes wrongly

caught within

a crusted vice

    .

...Who'll pen the

mystification

that's grown

...in silver smoke

... and pencil cloaked

...two-way mirror

   monitors...?

    .

O 1 Oh One... more 

...shot

    .