Cobbling Books in Ten-Minute Intervals

Ten-minute spans help me remember that cobbling books
Brings sentiments patched by rain, by wind, and, infrequently, by sunshine.

Such bon temps, as those striated by outlandishly envisioned motes,
Can quickly, in a space of five times two, become completely strung out.

Small mentations, after all, are only visceral snacks
When obdurate poets stop forcing everlasting rhyme.

My panoply of words, like yours, relies not on honor’s tradition,
But on verbal shrugs or on oblique passages.

In substituting rhetorically- enhanced globes for ordinary flint,
It’s best, however, to count down from one hundred.