all reveals are feints; I take you right but I am moving left, always left, then left again
when I turn the faucet of me on, brown, rusty pipe water comes out, never turning clear, even if the flow went on for a millennium
someone traveller passerby reads my excellent explicit illicit words, with kind sweetness observes a valid conclusion: Poems take.a lot out of you
not take, give they are the slow seepage of my overburdening which is yes, yes, I know, all relative, but perspective is a sometime summer thing, and all the springtime streets filled with filthy frozen slush
having come from some rusty water leakage, never turning clear no matter how long the street runs away from you
so you take yourself to give away, seeping and leaking
so useful and so inadequate crushed petals from the Tree of Life
you ask me If I have read my brother, the prophet-poet Jeremiah?
The heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. Who can understand it?
When your words came, I ate them; they were my joy and my heart's delight
Then the Lord reached out his hand unto my mouth and said, "I have put my words in your mouth."