poetry?.?.?.

#27 blues

spent 27 hours searching
through too many pages to
remember why I started
looking in the first place.

the search was built on
structural concerns, populated by
searching eyes waiting on
some lips and a tongue.

fortunately i’m reminded that
if it all goes according to plan
i’ll know it
when i see it.
———————————

untitled (is that a cop out?)

i’m coming clean
like waking up
from long dreams with bright colors

i’m coming clean
like the first cigarette
before all the other one’s get in the way

i’m coming clean
but it’s getting down
to wanting to get dirty again
———————————————-

waiting

it’s a son-of-a-bitch waiting on inspiration
that won’t listen to reason and
just show the fuck up when
it’s been called upon.

the fucker takes months to show up
unannounced, gives out a quickie handjob
and is gone
(that reminds me of someone else)

I suppose all of this will slip through
gutter cracks, as it has, as it will,
driven to distraction,
some dense novel considerations aside.

if you ask the muses why they’re in that
line of work
the good ones hush up,
the unreliable flee the coop

fucking insanity.

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