**** the witch
hogtied to this
thin-skinned wagon
packed with privilege
call me wicked
if it makes it easier
view my plight
as one of my own making
I should have done
as I was told

Brand me traitor
as dust obscures
this timeworn scene
I know what it means
to be a whole divided
drawn and quartered
dragged to all four corners
left for buzzards
along the walled
deserted borders

scattered limbs
seeking unity
I reach for what’s mine
only to find
healing hands
too tightly praying
too busy manufacturing
high ground
in this time
of righteousness

Label me other
as I diverge
light the skies
with fireworks red
belt patriot songs
I will not mouth
empty words
to an anthem
I no longer
believe in

tender is the ream of paper unwritten on
virginal
just pure fresh
rendering
her white flesh to my energies

a coil of possibility
a misnomer a dream
a bundle of tangled up thoughts spoken
with an urge to untangle
all of  those tightly woven knots

or at least share them
that is what it is, sharing
trying to connect somehow
this energy I have after nine
and ten hours
of straining muscle

when I see a bit of pure white
unsotted unsoiled  unspoken
pure white like a holy vision
a vision of goddesses dress
I want to tame her

Take her as a mighty lion
tame her to be mine
add her to my lair
pull her hair
write on her flesh

with my pen my words my scent my soul my heart  my being
my next thought
make the white paper suffer
my hurts my desires my untended energies
feel my pen deep on her
in her surface

mate with her claim the spaces the dashed curves
the indents the margins the surface
from top to bottom
from side to side scribbling the
most urgencies

I feel a need to write in ink on white