I hardly write.

I hardly write, nor do recite

      but   time   and   time   again

these words just flow

             from beneath bare               toes--

       hours swung I have to bend.

I hardly write for much is trite--

         some words must not be sent ;

                   blue world still goes

          wh’ther or not I know

  need I not to pretend.

I hardly write for much is blight--

         cursed torts sure do offend:

             “An eye for an eye,

                               a tooth for a lie.”

With care: ONLY DEFEND!

I hardly write, for much is     white   --

         [  blank pages  ] kept instead ;

plain colored ink,

           plots left to a            blink,

   to bed I go when read. 

I hardly write for much in sight’s

               unseen and then forget ;

      repaired another,

             inside’s a severed

     machine full of regrets.

I hardly write for I say, “Goodnight”

        from morn until sunset ;

                               a       single      touch

   sought more an inch such

as those waiting who have wept.

I hardly write--rhythm’s not right

songs r’ther heard beat by beat

refuting one---->

  <----and then the other

                lively discordant sets.

I hardly write, must I “fly a kite”

         to rhyme like all the others?

with what message too

          that I give all these [clues]

I still write and still do bother.