Chapter 1

Looking down at this bar with its variously brown stained boards beneath its
glossy finish reminds me of a surfboard I wish I could just get up on and ride a
wave out of this place.This place full of people with their devil horned hand
gestures and uneducated mouths uttering ridiculous thoughts to me.constantly
coming after me with their thoughts about rock & roll,heaven,hell,love and
deception.The real deception is that there's life in this bar where I find
myself time and time again.There might as well be bars instead of walls,we are
all jailing ourselves I think as I take a big sip of draft beer to momentarily
ease the brain.but just as soon as I replace the glass to the coaster paying
careful attention to return it to the wet circle mark where it had rested before
the thoughts start again about the crowd I am not only surrounded by but am
among one of the abused and scared running away from the truths we have
desperately locked away in places as obvious as the lyrics of our songs,cowards
confronting no one,nothing except beer drenched microphones and crowds just as
loathsome to stand there and watch us and are repetitive garbage we
unidentifiably call art.                                                             ­                                                                 ­                                                          Theodor­e why are you sitting here I think to myself as I
light a cigarette and take and take a deep drag,a drag that seems to relieve me
for a brief second from the anger and desperation.Theodore Francis Boone why am
I called this,what  could my parents have possibly been thinking,were their
intentions to high,could they have been thinking I may be a discoverer,hold a
seat in the senate,fast talking lawyer with a phone full of numbers of people
that want to be around me,well Theodore you are none of things tonight here atop
your ripped fake leather barstool here tonight.I clicked the bar three times
with my lighter took a drag and as I did I felt a tap on my shoulder Reluctantly
I looked over at an oddly attractive girl standing there with a sort of perky
stature and my fears were loose as I anticipated what she could possibly
want.                                                           ­                                                                 ­                                                        She mumbled words that at the very least I could care less about especially
with them being drowned out by the music being played at decibels better suited
for an outdoor venue.Great show she said my name Tabby can I by you a
drink.Tabby I thought for a second looked at my beer clicked it twice with my
fingernail took the last **** on it and then gave her a quick look and said
thanks and then returned my eyes to my empty glass.I turned my head back around
to her and said I'll have a draft,just a draft she replied? absolutely I said
just a draft.With guitar distortion consuming the smoke riddled air like a buzz
saw I felt her tap me on the right shoulder just as my draft arrived on fresh
coaster and she proceeded to ask do you guys play here often?I don't know I
added as she relentlessly continued with the questions.I one worded my way
through them until finally she let up for a few minuets and I returned to the
draft she had bought me.As I took a sip I thought maybe she was getting the
picture that I didn't need a Tabby or anyone else for that matter in my life who
felt like talking about the band or how often we played here in this prison.                                                          ­                                                              
  ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                               But just then,just as I thought it maybe over I felt another tap on my shoulder and
as I turned she handed me a torn in half bar napkin with her phone number on
it.As I folded it she laid the other torn half in front of me and asked if I
could give her my number and I wrote it down thinking to myself why would she
want to talk to me again ,I had been pretty lousy company.She the torn paper
with my number and placed it in her purse.I took the last pull on my beer paying
close attention to finish every drop then stood up tapped Tabby on the shoulder
and made my way out of there.                                                           ­                                                                 ­                             As the door closed and I was now on the outside the
ringing in my ears became apparent while  making my way down the street in an
almost silent peace.This was always my favorite part of any day the quiet of the
night walking with little distraction.The city seemed so much more beautiful
when it wasn't full of people aimlessly wandering around it.Sure there was the
occasional drunk or druggie but they didn't bother me and I didn't bother them
most of the time ,it was sort of a mutual respect at this hour of
night.Generally it was the blaze of the daytime when the distasteful wanderers
where most displeasing.The boss's the politicians all those daytime degenerates
those are the ones to worry about,the bankers and the such.Those that think they
got it that think they are ahead of the game and got it beat,they always seem
way to persistent on getting me involved uncreative tasks,No none of them where
out here tonight to bother me and I could enjoy my walk home.

Tantrums Of Genius
Tantrums Of Genius

Stay away from The - Mart

and it’s shopping cart

with a bad wheel,

Write on paper with

disbanded,forgotten

outlawed cursive,

not staring into

a computer with pop up adds

and trivial social media,

Have Tantrums Of Genius

Sip on a beer

or some wine

and close your eyes

in silence,

listen to the thoughts

twirl in your mind

like a Van Gogh painting,

paying attention to detail

as the thick blue colors

swirl into each other

creating a vibrant sky.

Listen to Mozart

softly inducing stimulation,

master’s calling through

space and time

telling you

of their frustration

in finding anyone

to listen to their message.

Read Ezra Pound

and all the others

the poet’s

who had the knowledge

the insight

to warn you of

a place with no creation,

filled with people

without imagination,

those who never had

Tantrum's Of Genius

Feel the emotion

as you start to pace

the floor,and look

out of a window,

and for the first time

realize that you

are surrounded by beauty

and you have ignored

every flower

and all of the color

that has not been recognized.

Maybe with anger

or with regret

have a

Tantrum Of Genius

As the truth

softly show’s itself

like gazing into

a Dali painting

slowly discovering

what it is you are looking at.

promise yourself

to often have

Tantrums Of Genius.

Looking down at this bar with its variously brown stained boards beneath its
glossy finish reminds me of a surfboard I wish I could just get up on and ride a
wave out of this place.This place full of people with their devil horned hand
gestures and uneducated mouths uttering ridiculous thoughts to me.constantly
coming after me with their thoughts about rock & roll,heaven,hell,love and
deception.The real deception is that there's life in this bar where I find
myself time and time again.There might as well be bars instead of walls,we are
all jailing ourselves I think as I take a big sip of draft beer to momentarily
ease the brain.but just as soon as I replace the glass to the coaster paying
careful attention to return it to the wet circle mark where it had rested before
the thoughts start again about the crowd I am not only surrounded by but am
among one of the abused and scared running away from the truths we have
desperately locked away in places as obvious as the lyrics of our songs,cowards
confronting no one,nothing except beer drenched microphones and crowds just as
loathsome to stand there and watch us and are repetitive garbage we
unidentifiably call art.Theodore why are you sitting here I think to myself as I
light a cigarette and take and take a deep drag,a drag that seems to relieve me
for a brief second from the anger and desperation.Theodore Francis Boone why am
I called this,what  could my parents have possibly been thinking,were their
intentions to high,could they have been thinking I may be a discoverer,hold a
seat in the senate,fast talking lawyer with a phone full of numbers of people
that want to be around me,well Theodore you are none of things tonight here atop
your ripped fake leather barstool.I clicked the bar three times
with my lighter took a drag and as I did I felt a tap on my shoulder Reluctantly
I looked over at an oddly attractive girl standing there with a sort of perky
stature and my fears were loose as I anticipated what she could possibly
want.She mumbled words that at the very least I could care less about especially
with them being drowned out by the music being played at decibels better suited
for an outdoor venue.Great show she said my name Tabby can I by you a
drink.Tabby I thought for a second looked at my beer clicked it twice with my
fingernail took the last **** on it and then gave her a quick look and said
thanks and then returned my eyes to my empty glass.I turned my head back around
to her and said I'll have a draft,just a draft she replied? absolutely I said
just a draft.With guitar distortion consuming the smoke riddled air like a buzz
saw I felt her tap me on the right shoulder just as my draft arrived on fresh
coaster and she proceeded to ask do you guys play here often?I don't know I
added as she relentlessly continued with the questions.I one worded my way
through them until finally she let up for a few minuets and I returned to the
draft she had bought me.As I took a sip I thought maybe she was getting the
picture that I didn't need a Tabby or anyone else for that matter in my life who
felt like talking about the band or how often we played here in this prison.But
just then,just as I thought it maybe over I felt another tap on my shoulder and
as I turned she handed me a torn in half bar napkin with her phone number on
it.As I folded it she laid the other torn half in front of me and asked if I
could give her my number and I wrote it down thinking to myself why would she
want to talk to me again ,I had been pretty lousy company.She the torn paper
with my number and placed it in her purse.I took the last pull on my beer paying
close attention to finish every drop then stood up tapped Tabby on the shoulder
and made my way out of there.As the door closed and I was now on the outside the
ringing in my ears became apparent while  making my way down the street in an
almost silent peace.This was always my favorite part of any day the quiet of the
night walking with little distraction.The city seemed so much more beautiful
when it wasn't full of people aimlessly wandering around it.Sure there was the
occasional drunk or druggie but they didn't bother me and I didn't bother them
most of the time ,it was sort of a mutual respect at this hour of
night.Generally it was the blaze of the daytime when the distasteful wanderers
where most displeasing.The boss's the politicians all those daytime degenerates
those are the ones to worry about,the bankers and the such.Those that think they
got it that think they are ahead of the game and got it beat,they always seem
way to persistent on getting me involved uncreative tasks,No none of them where
out here tonight to bother me and I could enjoy my walk home.

Let me take a minute of your time to set the precarious scene,

It was a warm august night under a full moon and I could see the stars in abundance,

as I sat on the floor leaning on the couch looking out of the opened front door.

I was drinking relatively expensive  american red wine,

which goes to say it was probably lower grade on a global scale,

and drinking it from a beautiful crystal wine glass.

I sipped on the expensive swill, while over my right shoulder,

on the couch I could hear moans of happiness from the two girls making out just above me.

There lips could be heard pounding harmoniously along with Fur Elise by Beethoven

playing softly in the background

and the moon, the stars,the opened door and the pleasure could be heard not only from Beethoven,but also from there lips embarked in joy Chopin would not have acheived,

For judgement layed at the open door under the stars and the moon and for Chopin.

Tantrums Of Genius

Stay away from The - Mart

and it’s shopping cart

with a bad wheel,

Write on paper with

disbanded,forgotten

outlawed cursive,

not staring into

a computer with pop up adds

and trivial social media,

Have Tantrums Of Genius

Sip on a beer

or some wine

and close your eyes

in silence,

listen to the thoughts

twirl in your mind

like a Van Gogh painting,

paying attention to detail

as the thick blue colors

swirl into each other

creating a vibrant sky.

Listen to Mozart

softly inducing stimulation,

master’s calling through

space and time

telling you

of their frustration

in finding anyone

to listen to their message.

Read Ezra Pound

and all the others

the poet’s

who had the knowledge

the insight

to warn you of

a place with no creation,

filled with people

without imagination,

those who never had

Tantrum's Of Genius

Feel the emotion

as you start to pace

the floor,and look

out of a window,

and for the first time

realize that you

are surrounded by beauty

and you have ignored

every flower

and all of the color

that has not been recognized.

Maybe with anger

or with regret

have a

Tantrum Of Genius

As the truth

softly show’s itself

like gazing into

a Dali painting

slowly discovering

what it is you are looking at.

promise yourself

to often have

Tantrums Of Genius.

She kept bringing
abstracts out from
a huge cardboard box
as the next artwork
revealed itself
the box produced another
more bizarre than the last.

Drawn on pizza boxes
maccaroni,glued and painted
kleenex box canvases
and a few done in ketchup.

She kept pulling them out
and she was loaded.

I drank my beer
and I sort of saw
I kinda felt where
they came from.

The Greek laughed
and cursed
I've thrown them away many times
but she keeps digging them out of the trash

I'll throw them away again
into the trash
with her wine bottles
and stripper clothes
he sat down
hit his joint.

Why don't you
let her keep these
I asked the Greek.

Because it's garbage
she too is garbage
her,and her art
both garbage.

She mumbled
something not hearable
while clutching her
baby doll.

I walked to the can
and threw away
my empty bottle.

I wanted to give
this to you and
I handed Frankie
the drawing I had made him.

He seemed pleased
and handed me another beer.

The Greek thought it
was **** I could tell.

He told me my garbage
wasn't any better than
her garbage artwork.

The energy's gotta
go somewhere
might as well be on these
canvases and pizza
boxes I said.

We sat there
for a few more hours
as Frankie finished
my Ruin symbols on
his large,silver grinder.

The Greek and the girl
finally left the
room and i was
relieved and the
room slowly
lost it's superfluous
tension.

I sat there in
Vegas staring
at the box of
GARBAGE

The Gothic Poet
Chapter 1

Looking down at this bar with its variously brown stained boards beneath its
glossy finish reminds me of a surfboard I wish I could just get up on and ride a
wave out of this place.This place full of people with their devil horned hand
gestures and uneducated mouths uttering ridiculous thoughts to me.constantly
coming after me with their thoughts about rock & roll,heaven,hell,love and
deception.The real deception is that there's life in this bar where I find
myself time and time again.There might as well be bars instead of walls,we are
all jailing ourselves I think as I take a big sip of draft beer to momentarily
ease the brain.but just as soon as I replace the glass to the coaster paying
careful attention to return it to the wet circle mark where it had rested before
the thoughts start again about the crowd I am not only surrounded by but am
among one of the abused and scared running away from the truths we have
desperately locked away in places as obvious as the lyrics of our songs,cowards
confronting no one,nothing except beer drenched microphones and crowds just as
loathsome to stand there and watch us and are repetitive garbage we
unidentifiably call art.                                                             ­                                                                 ­                                                          Theodor­e why are you sitting here I think to myself as I
light a cigarette and take and take a deep drag,a drag that seems to relieve me
for a brief second from the anger and desperation.Theodore Francis Boone why am
I called this,what  could my parents have possibly been thinking,were their
intentions to high,could they have been thinking I may be a discoverer,hold a
seat in the senate,fast talking lawyer with a phone full of numbers of people
that want to be around me,well Theodore you are none of things tonight here atop
your ripped fake leather barstool here tonight.I clicked the bar three times
with my lighter took a drag and as I did I felt a tap on my shoulder Reluctantly
I looked over at an oddly attractive girl standing there with a sort of perky
stature and my fears were loose as I anticipated what she could possibly
want.                                                        ­                                                                 ­                                                           She mumbled words that at the very least I could care less about especially
with them being drowned out by the music being played at decibels better suited
for an outdoor venue.Great show she said my name Tabby can I by you a
drink.Tabby I thought for a second looked at my beer clicked it twice with my
fingernail took the last **** on it and then gave her a quick look and said
thanks and then returned my eyes to my empty glass.I turned my head back around
to her and said I'll have a draft,just a draft she replied? absolutely I said
just a draft.With guitar distortion consuming the smoke riddled air like a buzz
saw I felt her tap me on the right shoulder just as my draft arrived on fresh
coaster and she proceeded to ask do you guys play here often?I don't know I
added as she relentlessly continued with the questions.I one worded my way
through them until finally she let up for a few minuets and I returned to the
draft she had bought me.As I took a sip I thought maybe she was getting the
picture that I didn't need a Tabby or anyone else for that matter in my life who
felt like talking about the band or how often we played here in this prison.                                                          ­                                                              
                                                             ­                                                                 ­                                                     But just then,just as I thought it maybe over I felt another tap on my shoulder and
as I turned she handed me a torn in half bar napkin with her phone number on
it.As I folded it she laid the other torn half in front of me and asked if I
could give her my number and I wrote it down thinking to myself why would she
want to talk to me again ,I had been pretty lousy company.She the torn paper
with my number and placed it in her purse.I took the last pull on my beer paying
close attention to finish every drop then stood up tapped Tabby on the shoulder
and made my way out of there.                                                           ­                                                                 ­                             As the door closed and I was now on the outside the
ringing in my ears became apparent while  making my way down the street in an
almost silent peace.This was always my favorite part of any day the quiet of the
night walking with little distraction.The city seemed so much more beautiful
when it wasn't full of people aimlessly wandering around it.Sure there was the
occasional drunk or druggie but they didn't bother me and I didn't bother them
most of the time ,it was sort of a mutual respect at this hour of
night.Generally it was the blaze of the daytime when the distasteful wanderers
where most displeasing.The boss's the politicians all those daytime degenerates
those are the ones to worry about,the bankers and the such.Those that think they
got it that think they are ahead of the game and got it beat,they always seem
way to persistent on getting me involved uncreative tasks,No none of them where
out here tonight to bother me and I could enjoy my walk home.

The old,grey cobblestone
leads to the archway
in front of the church
that supports the bell
which rings at seven.

How many footsteps have touched it's surface?
Footsteps that carried the dreams and sorrow of many.

At seven
as the bell rings
the lights start to glow
dangling from their cord
like a vine over the street.

People casually walk through the courtyard
peering into windows
talking and laughing
graciously being.

Voices slightly heard
through gradually darkening air
voices carefully crafting verses
in Spanish.

Life is easily seen
from the second floor terrace
peace in it's purest shape
trust and truth.

This square nicely hidden
five blocks away
from the rolling sea in Barcelona
is busy with such quiet motion.

Many people on their way
to places with such anticipation
or maybe from somewhere
with renewed hope
or without any at all.

Some just sitting on a park bench resting
perhaps just preparing themslves
for the hours to come
what secrets do those hours hold?

Right now is over
in just an instant.

This will be the only time
we all meet here in this square
tomorrow will be an absolute different place
for each and every one of us.

Never again will we all be here

We've all changed
maybe ever so slightly
but changed just the same
for having seen each other
here in this square.

Cover my nakedness
Forget any truths
Let me not have questions
Or freedom
Sacrifice me from thought
Implant me in false religion
Give me politics to argue
And stare at others in envy
Let us photograph French deities
And live in corporate stress
Please take away my family
And keep the twenty four hour drugstores
Rain down with chem trails
And I will believe area fifty one is not there's
Hide in fables
Suppress true knowledge
Let philosophy become an aborted word
And abort those who can't afford your tax
Hunt down free thinkers
How dare them
How dare them question
The cowards that sold the world

I took a walk one day
And I guess I just forgot to go back
Where I started from wasn't that bad
I just got lost in the beauty
I began to get addicted to things
The further away I got
Things like words written by bukowski
And paint drippings by *******
The hotel Durante haunted by Dali
And Ezra pounds thoughts
Floating through St. Marks square
The bullet train carried me only one way
No I never returned from the sights
Or the sounds of a glacier losing a chunk
Of ice into the ocean
The magnificent blue of the glacier ice
Chilling the whiskey I sipped as I starred
I believe the artwork just ****** me in
I slowly became a word in the pages
A drop of paint in the masterpiece
Out there on that walk

http://amzn.com/1484818814

Poetry,Beauty and Beer(enough with the madness)
I've been many times to Italy I like the wine
I've been many times to Spain I like the wine there too,
both places also have great
olive oil
and beer
I've been to South America,and there you will find wonderful wine
beer
olive oil
and an incredible glacier
I've been to Sweden,
England
and Scotland
they all have beer
wine
olive oil
and fine people
I've been to Japan
they as well have these things plus beer in vending machines.
The list goes on and on.
And they all have beautiful women
you can even find some here in the U.S. But the most miraculous thing
most of the people
in all of the countries I've been
have in common
is that they
want
to
live
in
peace.
They just want the beauty
enough is enough
with corporate greed.
Poets have warned it
for centuries.
Stop the money counting
and breath
look up
thats the sky
notice it for the first time,
take control of
yourself.
Darwinism,
religion,
racism,
all props to try and control something you have never possessed in the first place.
Beauty is everywhere in the world.

Another beer stained Sunday
Writing ,thinking and talking to myself
Sometimes I'm a good listener
But other times I just argue with my thoughts
I'm an ******* I think as I take a sip
Some of my critics would agree I respond
Those critics give me fire I mumble
The ones who need a formula
The ones who haven't been completely broke
Broke and giving up everything for the work
The art,
The ones who haven't lost anything
Or everything like I had done
Searching for the words,the voice
Oh well I wish them luck,I think
As I take another sip
Do you really wish them well?
I question myself
I think I do I say.
You've gone mad I exclaim
As I pace the floor relentlessly
Mad,Im more sane than ever
I'm quick to reply
I'm disagreeing with you after all
You wanted to keep things safe
Nice and easy with no risks
But I challenged you
When you wanted to fold
You're an ******* I think as I take a sip
On another beer stained Sunday.

Mystery was a riding on that uptown train,and she knew,
it's just another ordinary average day.
Wondering if everbody's gone insane.and she knew,
it's probably always been this way.

'When the world changes and it all just seems so lame,
ooh maybe I'll stay the same.
If the world is differant,and it still just seems so lame,
I'll just find someone else to blame.

Then I was a riding on that downtown train,and I knew
That everything we looked at excactly the same.
turned on the t.v. to watch the day,and I knew
it probably always had to turn out this way.

When the world changes,and it all just seems so lame,
ooh maybe I'll stay the same.
If the world is differant,and it still just seems so lame
I'll just find someone else to blame.

Mystery was a riding on that uptown train,and she knew
It's just another ordinary average day.
Turn on the t.v. to watch the day,and she knew,that we've always been on the same train.

Twenty feet off sunset
It's kind of quiet
for a saturday night
in Hollywood.

I wonder where the crowds gone?
my friends must have went off
to drink.

It's better that I stayed
There's quit alot to write
I promised myself
That I would.

The hotel room is quiet
except the ringing in my ears
from the amps
and the crowd.

Here in room 227
the loud has dripped to empty
alone at last,where I feel normal
almost.

My thoughts and memories
have always been too big
not shallow
not empty.

I wouldn't rise to watch others fail
Compassion really did me in.

A pounding heart,and brain
I couldn't stop neither
And Iv'e surely tried
they just got stronger.

Although 227 would appear empty
It's filled with many others
who have influenced me
to rid the sedation.

Landing back at the Cleveland airport I made my way that afternoon to the airport bar for my ritualistic landing drink.I was in no hurry because I never checked bags and I was generally never in a rush.As I watched the olives dance to the bottom of the glass and slowly make their way back to the top amist all the tiny bubbles they created I was reminded of a couple of facts that were to serve me well in the coming days.The first was very simple,if someone invites you to do somthing proclaiming it to be a blast,it never is.And secondly if I witnessed a ****** and in explaining that ****** to a group of ten people stratigically placing the word **** in there several times at least half of the group would be more offended by the word **** than the actual ****** itself.That being said,at any given moment we are surrounded by people that are focused on the wrong things.

moment in Italy

I knew I wasn’t dreaming

but it was like I was

walking slowly toward the sea

empty houses

off season I guess

or just quietness

shops with smiling people

I was almost alone

for many moments I could see no one else

slumber on a sunny afternoon

waves sang as I walked the beach

looking for a shell

proof that I had been there alone

rows of empty beach chairs

this time was mine with the sea

a much welcomed silence

to just be.

I might have likened the bottle
more than the *****
the drink often brought peace and sleep
but also her too
sometimes a room full of unwanted types
the restless,with a grudge
the music would disappear
and blurriness replaced sight
often anger
it's quiet tonight
I must not have seen her
words and pages tell me so.

The marble stairway
Winding like a snake
From my room on the second floor
To the lobby in the hotel
Which carried on out into the street
Where I would follow for city blocks.
Waiting there with the tapas and beer
Was a drunk poet,
Ready with the words to fill any empty space
With a lifetime of thought.
The verse, not unlike the architecture
Screamed aloud
Cried out to me
For it had been waiting decades
For someone to view it
To lick its breast
Penetrate the long abstinence
Of mind and body
Finally one with the forgotten thought patterns
That died with the others.
Once again to be kissed
And lay there with gently stroking fingertips
A lover
Longing to be held
Remembered
Tasted lips.
The deliverance of hope
Through the eyes of the wanted
Those often written about
Painted on sturdy canvas
In immortal bliss.
Soaked in olive oil
Each tattered step
Beloved in wisdom
Breath
A beep chance of being.

I have made a relatively
Large mistake
In that
I have taken any of this
Insanity seriously.
For many years
I was tricked into
Playing along with this
Phenomenally ******* up
Box of stones
Being sold
As silver.
Beauty is abundant
And I will live my days
With it.
I will ignore the demons
Who wish to abolish it.
War ******
Greed
Slime
And pukes.
I will no longer
Associate with you.
To me you do not
Exist.
You have lost the battle
For my mind.
You could not capture it with
Television
Propaganda
Schools
Churches
Drugs
Or fictional accounts of history.
You could not contain it with
Science
Institutions
Math
Taxes
Or hysteria.
Although I do posses embarresment
And a little shame
For having paid attention
To you,
I wash my hands
Hold up my head
Adjust my hat
And continue to walk
With a little faith in the soles of my shoes.

I wish I could see life again
the way I saw it
before the obnoxious ruled it
the athiest ran it
and the weak cried.
When it was full of color
and not just skin,but vibrance.
When trees would blossom
and spring was new.
When laughing was legal
and freedoms weren't taxed.
When kids would smile
for no reason.
Just because.
I wish I could see it that way,
before I was learned,
before I was taught.

As I arrived to my second floor hotel room

i looked over the walkway rail

down to the pool

where I saw two beautiful *******

sunbathing women with large breast

and neon thong bottoms,

laying there in full glory

absorbing the Italian sun.

I briefly thought

I should send them some drinks and wave

but then I quickly decided not to disrupt the spirits

turned and went in the large dark brown door

threw my key on the desk

opened a beer

had a few sips

and took a nap.

I wasted time deliberating,
that was blatantly obvious.
With persistent search
I wasted time reading and writing.

The many colors of paint
dry on my hands
The truth is rarely needed.

I'm sure the artist knew.

The poet and the pain
the painter and the brush
words underlined in black Gothic ink
the wax dripping from the flame

a single file line
all in smiling poverty
divided, conquered.

When understanding is so clear
the truth is rarely needed.

I'm sure the artist knew.