my untackled thoughts
quake miniature dramatics ;
cramming for the light
having fits for my attention

through each
I am irresponsibly born
and then hastily killed...
it is a wasteful process

from now on
I shall label them
as they surface
I shall call them Petty Mort
both a joke at their expense
and a simple dismissal

with this manner
I shall practice trimming them
from my chosen daily effort

we come to rest in peace awaiting answers and
I slip after to the land of Nod...

woke, for a joke, we hope...

we see dis
similarities, I am shackled
standing five ten before
a trio of judges

in wigs, Shirley Temple wigs.

I grow three feet, or about two cubits,
and I stare my judges in the eye

my chains expanded with me, as bindings,
worthless, I conclude.

I can just, if I wish,
walk out, chains and all, standin tall.

---
being holy is easier than being sane in interesting times.
crazy
un mented real ization in
matters,
such as these: do we rule or obey or is there
another way
,
would seem holy right, hidden, for none to see, save
believers
who have been bred to the task of telling this story

holy story, jots, tittles, pimples and farts and all
standin' tall.

---
Drama of dharma, don't we know more good than evil as we grow?

Who would hinder knowing growing good?
An evil being, or a lie believed?

The lie, right? I know, Easy.
Answers come so easy some times, we forget the questions
on the test.

My face is caked
With pigment, baked
In glaring lights, and I,
Can't wait.

My stomach churns,
Adrenaline
Is coursing through my veins,
but then

"5 minutes!"
Someone shouts, my head
perks up immeditely
And when

They beckon fervently
For me
And I cannot contain
My glee

Step out onto polished wood
Look out into the aisles
See faces staring up at you,
You're here to make them smile

I have the power to make them laugh,
To make them shout or cry,
And my nervousness is gone now that
I know their hearts are mine.