#fink
some sort of rough chaos dictates the following...
can't bleat
a swallowing
thin crease
a minor alteration
the seventh year
twitch
& sprung is my fink
making demands
a tinker in his eye
& the waterworks hailing
from his rapid claws
commands much work
spun nylon from my whipped flaws
destruct the family plans
its for a wick lit cause
fist the winnings up your purse
spill the prophecy
hail a taxi
& concrete the curse
Jan 28, 2021
Jan 28, 2021 at 7:24 AM UTC
Start with a fresh idea.
It appears crystal clear and lucid,
the fringes stretching and fabricating on their own.
It looks good, so far.
I put my pen down to write.
A diabolic blot of ink drops.
A white haze infuses itself and now it has all become murky,
no longer as apparent.
Almost as if a frosted glass screen has descended, blocking my horizon.
I HAVE to shatter the glass. I stand beside the pile of hammers.
I HAVE to pick one.
A battle to fight, every day. Every day… every day…
every day, a fink.
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 4:05 AM UTC