[My lute an office
where I expect to walk.
I found a stone in mourning
for the temple.
Bread and butter were discoursing
of the great eater.
I remember a hanging jack
to roast birds—that heat.
I played a while on my lute
and could not kill anything.]
Erasure poem derived from The Diary of Samuel Pepys, Saturday 4 February 1659/60.
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