sometimes writing poetry
purges the brain
like the mourning toilet ritual
like shock treatment
or a whopping good lobotomy
gets the cockka demons
and snails out of my ears
refreshes like
sweet dreams dryer sheets
and gives one a sense of having
accomplished something
when one has not

i'm purging
the hobgoblins of deep grooved nuro patterns
a stunted caged mind
that keeps me safe
like a lidded box
for small entertainments
trivia and vast ****** ****** of *** prancing
girls on girls
leggy acrobats begging me for diabolical
**** and tongue gymnastics

a small time writer
haunted by picayune ideation's of craft
daunted
in the midst of nowhere
i seek the asylum
of
rangy jungles and great stone cities
that languish in depths
of word mists vainglory
as i hide from dark storms
fearing doom
and mythic hells
fumbling through
labyrinths
vacant, isolated
a crying mouth