A day is a stitch,
In the quilt of my life,
Each bad one a do-over,
So many, I am always running out,
And away, don't leave,
Don't fear the Reaper
Just the Seam Ripper,
Middle name "Jack"
A Polish day tripper,
News to me,
Bury my head in the sand
Of a kitty-kat litter box
Choices and
Life ...
All bad,
This is not a hobby,
That comes after
I keep begging for mercy,
my hands reach for the rafters,
Moon shines bright and white,
While grasping at stars,
With each failed rewrite,
If they edit my life,
Will I be found ever,
On the page.
Or scraps on the floor,
Or balled up fists of paper,
Heaped in the Forgotten Corner,
Behind a Western door,
That faces East with Hope,
but that is not her name.
She has a page of her own.
The miles lined up end to end,
Like silver tracks, leading...TO
where on the page.
Earl Grays misted friend, ON
to find my solace, my friend.