I say, status seems pychic– How! Za-zoo! And how!
O' that brain be electric as a buzz!
I'm all a'fixin' to be boxed.
These joints are a'sprainin–
Winter wind snakes done
constricted and strainèd.
Out of place. Almost out of time, I swear:
Never enough place, barely enough time.
Korean girl's all a'watchin' to see
how I sip hot tea... Out! Get out!
I got them delusions, deliriums–
All's done. I'm diluted, sayin':
*“Medicine for my grievin'–
Aye, my confidence has been gone.
Never did speak of leavin'–
I met him at the ditch at dawn.”*
And left unsaid was better yet,
coos all a'whisperin' by waters.
Water's runnin' thin now.
Creek's gone, ran dry.
He's a man of stature,
he can't just go!
Anthills and ant
burrows 'neath
sands gone mad–
O’ bore teeth! Yea!
Where's the meter
meeting the rhyme
when your bliss'd
metronomicist
loses pace
and dies?
Slows
and slows
and slower yet
his heart does beat
and the last of his words
do run across his teak frame:
*“O' bore teeth!
Bearing ‘em all;
All is a'grinding!”*
It’s but a machine to keep one’s rhythm,
to help one maintain the desired beat.
She kisses me on the forehead.
I return the gesture on her cheek.
He whispers to me through darkness:
“There are many worlds we’ve yet to see.”
It is thoughts like that which grant me focus.
Where all’s good and wishes, like prayers, be lent.
My thoughts lag behind, weighted by you.
I strain them through hot water for tea.
She watches as I drink. I waited for you–
Drank it by the ditch in the morning.
I fend off these demons in the courtyard.
Winter spells done summoned my greyest thoughts.
Here all's good! Yea, all be lent–
I tacked your name to the corkboard.
Alas, none was meant for you–
I fend off thoughts in the courtyard.
O’ that mind be broken, still-painted grey!
Not much I can do but keep the winter at bay.