posted on Nov, 4 2015 @ 06:52 AM
Ummm...a number of years ago I thought that I had written about every topic under the sun...I thought that anything else I wrote might be overly
redundant...I could not get my brain to shut off the valve from which my poetic nature runs...
And then I did...it took a longish while to open that faucet again...and from it spill flows of consideration...
I always keep writing materials with me...even if it's only an old napkin...or a register receipt...pen...pencil...marker...it's all the same to
no matter the subject...
I am rung
More bellicose than bell
Nor am I tread though trod upon does bear a simpler similitude
The old ringer washer has me by armpit and shoulder
First the fingers that too long lay dormant
They may as well have drooled
from chopstick pencil grip to page
Comatose digits who fled purpose
believing that the entirety of the all
lay redundant in a few hundred odd scribing’s
What vain narcissism coughed bile into the fore of conscience
An ugly little reflective facade
A sunburn peel of countenance dared hang burqa-esque
a secondary skin
loose and opaque on expression
have you bound banality tight within the ream
Dysfunction paces joyous
within the confine of ego