Scratch,
and it's quid pro..
but we all know
that fleas do as they please.

Lucid and clued in and
yet I'm glued to the screen
which gives birth to the babies
and life to the scream

****
I really should pick up a book
to
remember what words look like when
they're written.

so I did,
Bill Bryson's
(Notes from a small island)

Somewhere out there an enquiring
mind
is asking questions

don't allow your mind to stagnate
take it off the leash before it's too late
and you end up
glued to the screen.

If it's not broken break it
if only to see how many pieces
you can fit into the hands of a store
front mannequin,
they used to have those when I was
a kid,
giants of people with holes in their heads
and we put money in to them,
charity, they said,
but I often wondered why they never got fed up
or full up and pulled out.

And then I grew up and the giants with holes in their heads disappeared only to turn up in or outside auction houses dressed as red indian chiefs.

I think they've all gone now to some giants happy hunting ground or at least I haven't seen any around recently.

She can walk
          between
             night and day
               never letting either
                  get in her way.
She learned this trick
                     many moons ago
                                by
                     going deep within
           and never letting it show.
Her soul is innocent
her heart is pure
she’s gone through more
than most could endure.
            She’s an angel of light
                 an angel of dark
                 you never know
              what you will spark.
                      You want to hurt her?
                         Please, go ahead and try
                           she’ll be the one to show you
                                  just how well she can
                                                              f
­                                                                l­
                                                                ­  y.
                                  Her soul innocent
                    her heart pure
      but never think for one minute
that she’s not secure.
                                Say what you will
                          please, do what you must
                       but your jealousy and hatred
                             won’t waver her trust!
~

And I look into the depths of your eyes
In search of the truth,
But I can’t read them.
I can’t find anything that makes sense.

I do not know how you feel
Toward me,
Toward us.
So when I look into them,
Gaze into them a little too long,
And you ask me “what? What is it?”
I say “nothing”,
Because I can’t bring my lips to ask
What my eyes wish they could see
And that is: “How do you really feel about me?”

Myopic gunmen spouting out
silliness:
“Four guns to one”, say some
and the deal will be done
“Evil villain children
will be bullet ridden
falling to the ground
before they can fire a round
Before their guns can make a sound
they will be taken down”

There are none so blind
as those who will not see
in the land of the brave
and the home of the free

I see a restless canvas
Colors jumping through the surface
Layers and layers of the uncertain
I imagine being covered like a curtain
Darkness held under wraps
While the light fights through
I sit with my paintbrush trembling
Thoughts slowly but surely dismembering
One stroke could ruin my beautiful work
Doubt sets in my process
Not much more, but I can’t evision success
But I will take it
I slide the brush across the canvas