sometimes writing poetry purges the brain like the mourning toilet ritual like shock treatment or a whopping good lobotomy gets the cockka demons and snails out of my ears refreshes like sweet dreams dryer sheets and gives one a sense of having accomplished something when one has not
i'm purging the hobgoblins of deep grooved nuro patterns a stunted caged mind that keeps me safe like a lidded box for small entertainments trivia and vast ****** ****** of *** prancing girls on girls leggy acrobats begging me for diabolical **** and tongue gymnastics
a small time writer haunted by picayune ideation's of craft daunted in the midst of nowhere i seek theΒ asylum of rangy jungles and great stone cities that languish in depths of word mists vainglory as i hide from dark storms fearing doom and mythic hells fumbling through labyrinths vacant, isolated a crying mouth