Punch cards wailed and
divots sprouted
on lead land.
Dated
Silver struck to kill
some backyard tree
written into his will.

Paper clippings left apart
(left to the final
smudges called art)
the spinning vinyl
couldn’t reach him— or a b-side either.
On a silver platter came borne paper,
and she was a memory the morning after.

Lover, come in our divot
dressed up in virgin white.