2014 #121

from seventy-eight to thirty-three
if not in some cases to sixteen
so the future seems to betide, but speediness
and jumpy nerves were never marquee stars
and at the end of the road flexibility
shrugs and raises red toast that is whiskey
suggesting that fretting over what most often
amounts to not much more than reptilian waste
sets a man – or heck sets a woman too
not a hell of a lot higher than the piss ant

at least in how the piss ants madly scurry
in service to some queen whom the humblest heel
will squish in a blink while hunting bait
if there may erupt curses with welts the workers
print on calf and shin quarters from programs
written in dedication to fire
privates – in plainer syntax the market
that happily buzzes with chattering
merchants beneath umbrellas of yellow and blue
are selling as much as they can as fast as they can

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About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
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