Thought
be hard and course to the swallow

when its taste
be set on another's tongue

a scent
will sweeten its sour
to the very seed I plant it on

I take
full responsibility

for how others treat me

This
I can control
That
I can not

Do not
make a choice
create it to have

There
be no sting
on the tail of a dove

A soul
knows nothing
of suffering love

I think
as far my thoughts

and stay
out of the reach of others

The staff on demand
Pulls tight a ribbon to its decadent throat
Corporeal being spills empty its spent space
into the corpse of clay
pressing its leer thru a slip of truth
peppered to the eye of its socket

the blood cloth inks its let
to her red rosey prejudice
blackened by its banished stain
relinquent and beastly
delicate and deathly
oer the swinging skull of memory

dripping its smelt on the suicide skin
a pest be its pleasure
pining and clad on the hang of hope
hurling at the end of a tethered rope

Happy
in the not getting
to where you be going
or what you be asking for

I look here
I get this

I look there
I get that

I look for it
and it looks back

everything I see
I put in my eye to look at

As you
lock on
to whats not going well

you remain
a co operative creative component
to that very expression of reality

May
be none

be
more than one