Pieces and species and soul-holes of mine
All gathered in a place or another sometime
The write is the spout that my soul sifts on out
If I only I had a backbone, I’d clamor and shout

But this is not me at least most of the time
We used to say if you care just dropp a quick line
But things have all changed we must have meaning profound
If not, then store it in your gut and let it churn all around

But sooner or later it all must come up
The bile and vile and senile can’t show
I am smitten unless written and brought up, oh how I know
Thank God this outlet serves as my emotional flow.

To judge is not thinkable for those with my plight
To be judged is OK if those judging are always right
But a simpleton keeps trudging the road of the free
And learn from the arrows that find a bull’s-eye in me.