mouthful, fistful, earful.

I want to write
about these words.
They dance, they tease
They spring from corners
with themselves mighty pleased,
quickly disappearing before you catch 'em.
This inability to capture is loathsome
The words, they're running through my head
but refusing pen and paper dictum.
Here I bend, my mind’s so Zenned
I find the keys clicking.
The words, they won’t come.
The finger-tapping, un-ending.
All I want is a poem.

’nuf said and much more done.
Thought and deed represent themselves.
The missing musketeer tried his tricks,
trapped in a world of logic.
T'is indeed strange,
a difference of statue and clay,
when stringing words for a poem
how one hems about.
Emails seem like strays.
A hashed attempt at vocabulary,
Severely fraught with the unmeaningful.
“I do appreciate your extraordinary concern,
but I must aver that it is unwarranted.
The cause of trepidation
is but a minor point d’jour.
While we recognize the value of your unease,
Rest assured that this disquiet is unfounded.”
Too many words and no soul.

Betrayal

The feelings I touch when you look through me.
The fire that burns when you brush me by.
Every word you say’s in my mind’s eye.
Take me, love me, or at least pretend.
There’s something about you that never ends.
Its starts with every letter you write,
Runs through each word you say.
Doesn’t end in your silence
But finds its death in your eyes.
Arisen from its fall, there it awakens.
New, fresh and stronger than before.
Suddenly even words are too little,
Their meanings are limited,
Captured and pinned down.
Running past every emotion,
Trying to slow down,
Showing me all that you want to say
Nearly succeeding, swaying my psyche.
Yet you feel its not enough,
You say if you were a spear,
You’d be deep in my soul.
Smirking as you spit it out,
You revel in my sorrow.


wrote this one a very one time ago...