In the hit of a personal edit where I bled a bit
put two slices of bread with it
and ate a cold memory
with a hot steaming cup full of misery
I sat down to tea.

Edits are necessary a suitable accessory
to the future we want to see
and if with ourselves we are cruel
and use the right kind of tool
we can dig out those bits
that would hide in the corners and throw fits at this unwanted intrusion
used as part of a twice weekly programme
to ram home the message that I am
a flawed human being
and this is just what I need to start freeing those things that are trapped on the inside where Krap seems to accumulate.

Mondays and Fridays are my days to clear out and scout out internals to rinse out the kernels and wash myself clean.
Like a scene from some film noir, one can only go so far 'til you hit a ground zero
become an edited hero.
Cheer oh,
I cheer when the cleansing is done and I'm clear again
able to peer again into what I would like and desire to hear again
in a page full of pain where the words hurt the same and the chapters make laughter at me
I am free to decide if the tide is against me or the winds blowing freely which very nearly would seal me into an epilogue
quite clearly the editors pen would be needed so I could be fed and reseeded with hope
and with the cogs of cognition would once again turn on the ignition
and fire up the engine
to begin.

In the restroom,the best room where the bridegroom bites his fingernails and his top hat and tails have turned tail and have run
the song is sung of the forlorn those that wish they'd been never born and the rest is pro forma
a bit Norma Jean another film noir scene
and it's time for my tea.