I write, but….

I write but
Not compelled
Not awoken
Startled by the force
To feverishly pen
What flows
What bursts forward
To be read
I do not wake
The words caught
Under breathe
Recited like a
Newly wrought prayer
Its power still new
Still raw
Still strong in its conviction
To be heard…

foolish zenith

sometimes
having reached
a foolish zenith

 reason surpasses
the enduring calls of
past words

all that is subjected to difference
seems thinly veiled as the last

all disguising the one truth
with no more than a
used epiphany

insatiable

sinking my teeth in

letting the subjective gush out

it pools metaphorically around my wettish, wrinkled toes

wasted with a hungry willingness

sated yet ever greedy

glutted yet voracious for more

consumed with a tenacious menace

all

that refuses

to be written or read.

elude

words elude me…
running blindly,
unlike similies,
unread metaphors,
all escape me.
to exist still more,
in my fitful thoughts.

museful

Dear, discouraging lump

you’re a worrisome bump

you surf

you nuke

you answer calls…

 

what more? what more?

is this what you wake me for?

another ranting raving

epistle

and I (small i)

your ever indulgent

vessel.

sound out

sound out the sounds

they are no longer words

they make no sense

being strung along

to complete a sentence

that means nothing

but

it still tries

to express

what is not there

there’s no fooling you

is there?

 

am i thought?

just for fun, when writing the piece “lit/unlit” light was the word that rushed forth…

a word
rushes forth
at every chance
“am i needed?”
“am i sought?”

it repeats itself
like a child recites
“can i or can i not?”

shamelessly
pandering
clumsily
meandering
teasing forgetfulness
like it wants to be caught

but ever ready
with a toothy grin
“am i needed?
how ’bout now?
am i thought?”

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meant

tainted thine typed out tryings
verbage together litter a page
what more is there but lesser whats
riffled through and written out

as rejected
over confidence over
rhythm somewhere lost
devices to lie have proven true in their bitter lies
meaning yet means to change
to whatever it meant to matter

blur and part

“the people blur and part”

and i await for the words to come

a frantic search

through many no longer sticky notes

bent and creased and come apart

with scribbles, waves and loops

half brackets, slashes and arrows

and lines wobbily crossed out

all tossed aside for that one

where all that has stuck

to memory

are “the people blur and part”

a thunderous sound

the platform trembles

a whoosh of stale and mechanical air

an impatient rush, quick shuffles and speakered din

all scattered now

and stuck between the tracks

To sleep…

i will write no more…

for sleep beckons with warmth
and promises of
peaceful slumber

and though the couplets
waltz hand in hand

and imagery sings wittily
with coy metaphors

and though the muses
swirl alluringly by

and the rubious rhymes
taste sweet and tartly

i will write no more…

heavy clouds sit upon my eyelashes
and drowsiness tugs me gently away
with soft zephyr whispers

and though my pen persists
the dream sands engulf me
from a far off oasis

and so i will write no more
no more
no

for now