there is always room for some decadence

whether the feather shall tickle
the nook in this that is a most
delicate matter; or from the safest
of safeties will play onlooker
while helplessly weeping in ecstasy

of an admittedly and slightly
masochistic skew; aching for
the form known as a freedom fist
for none shall dare tell
a real man whether he will or will

not see to the satiation
matter in his own time
wherever the place the mood might strike
and remind that all that ever exists
Is Now. So hop to it swaggering bucko.

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

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