another damascus day

I chomped a chunk from a rhetoric tree,
ignoring nudges to check out its roots
but there never was a humane ease when
imagining a table fitting several,
downing like a good neighbor hard liquor,
until it became disclosed my tastes lean
closer to the brothel than the steeple
and while I admire the discipline
required for painting mountain

and stream so I’d swear I gazed upon
a veritable photographic dream,
I do spare a thanksgiving not nearly
often enough that someone upstairs
applied a gentle hand in guiding guys
like Pollock to try dripping; a truly,
fearless, ballsy, venture into worlds
which feedback even these days makes mouths
froth; of course we assume liquor would pour


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.
This entry was posted in poetry and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.