I will sleep
and wake up
on Christmas day

this space for rent

I would write more
but you scare me
I'm not as
[something]
as you
I just don't
know for sure
what
Not as rhythmic
mebbe
I don't even
Not as run up
on something
as you
Not as in
denial
Not as
Knotted
Just not
absent here
as you
leaning back

I worry about you
between art
and ****** armistice
where beauty
leaves us

Where beauty leaves
me
again I haven't
measured up
so stop

Arriving on top
of me
a fearful thought
named
you

Coarse leather
dark patina
no shape
I almost saw
your soul

And this author
who does he think
smug now

it's not him
still hidden
tabled here

just letters
spilt wavy like
to see

that's not poetry you say
yea but it works for me
it's not a dance that's refined
I tell the other side of my mind
just another lame attempt
a wannabe first of its kind
mush stuckina digital rind
feelin' this is quite a
fine mess
only /IP
can parcel this

Unsure as to why that is
it unravels itself openly
unreels, uncoils, unfolds
even spills itself further
into this shallow dish
foolishly as always
and impetuous
not careful
or measured
just emptied
out