comfort zones 1

Careful with knowledge. The coddle
of one stray fact can act as a gateway
to park play flooding; speakeasy raid.

Tongues dripping inhumane acid use
self-righteous certitude to abuse
independence with questions

fashioned for ensnaring the naive
plucking and chewing a leaf
in innocence. Where did the old joy

so hastily zoom to?
We know why. No cause
could pulsate clearer. Pity the sloths.

How perverted became their names.
Oh of neon and of roulette
ball bounces and worldly clatter and glass

diamond brays he is grossly ignorant.
Life is about or is best when about
paddling in idleness across

the green lake serenity;
cross into mellow eve when the frogs
commence lily pad play. Sorry dear

dragonfly your dance of glitter, glint,
had to endure the robotic call
for closure and please pass along

the sentiment to slumbering butterfly
cousins: light this hour dims
shall blaze anew come sunrise


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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