footnotes in nursery rhyme

Got up this morning ahead of my time

shook fear from my hair and tears from my eyes

took to the mirror and spoke to this guy

who said he knew me from before —

it’s there that he unlocked the door.

He gave me a sunrise he gave me his hand

he told me a secret I could understand

life isn’t a journey or destination

it’s your choice to choose to buy in —

for me it’s better not to win.

So I sharpened my memory and tore out his tongue

recycled the organ from which I’d dislodged

filled it with the secret and sealed it shut

if X marks the spot then I’m fine —

love’s just footnotes in nursery rhyme.

Connecting the dots which soon filled my head

aligned with ideas I spoke with each step

life ain’t no cake walk or deal with respect

it’s your throat or mine well of course —

I’d take mine to spare you the course.

It’s kill or be killed so I’m on my knees

no fear any longer just tranquility

it’s obvious ain’t it half hearted pity

runs deep like the roots of despair —

no one’s got the cure or should dare.

So with that in mind one swift hit should do

a hole in the head hell it ain’t nothing new

I was head over heals now I’m sinking through

the clouds which look soft from afar —

at the end of this there’s only dark.

With all things considered it’s lovely I guess

like spilled paint confetti this hole in my chest

I’ve dug it before since third grade I guess

my actions speak louder than words —

it’s all been a blessing and curse.

a little jig with the birds

I took all my why’s and what for’s one day

and threw em like confetti out the window

fluttering and cutting through the air

they just fell to the ground as the wind

picked up and the cars and people

mulled through the day dragging with them

my black confetti underfoot and tire

picking at em like stuck gum

confused in chaos

I watched just for a little as they disappeared

and the crowds dispersed with the morning

afternoon and night till all was quiet again

all but me shaking my unchained head

and doing a little jig with the birds.

Creative Bursts.

Creative bursts,

like drunkard

bar stool

thoughts,

I can actually do something…

That by morning

are swept away,

like confetti

on New Year’s Day.