I’m a writer at my worst
Never at my best
In the belly of the beast
I’m boiled like the rest.
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Funny eh!
Funny eh!
How when you put yourself to sleep
like a baby, you sleep like a baby…
Bittersweet
This decade tasted
bittersweet, as now I welcome
this peaceful sleep.
With all stones cast
With all stones cast
There’s a pot still boiling
And a kettle left black
There’s a house still standing
With thinly cracked glass
There’s a kink in the line
With a reel still intact
There’s a spell in the ether
Waiting to be cast
With all stones thrown
There’s a hole full of flesh
There’s a crack in the arrow
There’s an angry protest
Each body a story, color, and time
Each arrow head sharpened, pristine, and divine
Each voice becomes voiceless, estranged, and unkind
With all stones turned
There lies not a soul
The truth is but squalor
Results are annulled
In a garden of daisies
Rest youthful and old
A graveyard of rubble
for silver and gold?
VHS
A boy, four walls, a television set
what else more can one expect
a restless head, and evenings spent
on worthless puzzles, and VHS
tapes I watched, rewound and played
late past midnight, mornings, days
in a vault of body, mind
all to merely pass the time,
how good it felt, at that first glance
to fade into title sequence
and what a time it was to be
by oneself in harmony
caricatures care not to judge,
or fight, or fuss, nor try to budge
a troubled boy in troubled times
when credits roll, press rewind
rewind…
rewind..
rewind.
If, but there is no if
I, but there is no I
Could, but there is no could
Go, but there is no go
Back, but there is no back
I think
I would
press
Eject
Words Of An Average White Male 