Daily Crossword Puzzle Poetry Draft

Our winter fingers fumble for the lamp.
For weeks we wonder, have we seen a star?
A blanket fort the only sport
our SADness epic as the aria.
In Haiti where voodoo's not taboo
the dead outstrip the urns.
Pancaked cinder block, men with axes
atoll of aid ships
round the clock docs
while here in right field
we worry and pine for sweets
far from devastation as UFO
reading or ignoring more reports
toes and fingers red tipped at the spa
we hope, we mutter and aw gee
we lap our buddies at the pool.
We're cool, we make mistakes
we spend lives on eve
of meaning
twitchy as hares.
Do they play hai alai
in Haiti? What is the crux?
How many required pages?
It's been ages since the rein
the wooden plow, and now, a mole
that sees.

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blasphemy?