Writing Wrongs

So that’s what feeling feels like

A numb concussion

Exploded by the interruption of what felt like



It left me reeling

Riveting as playing a game of roulette

The Russian kind

Filling every barrel to the brim

And then going over the falls

Don’t tell me don’t tell me don’t even think it

Do you always react this erratic?

Like a mouse in the attic

When footsteps come

Hearing voices

Recognized from around the corner


And then stationary

I would write about it but I can’t sit still

There’s writer’s block

And there’s writer’s anvil

And the pen is still mightier

Mightier than mighty men

In a war the first thing to go are the manners

Acting as both patient and physician

Anesthetized to the touch of a knife

I realized

I have a terrible bedside manor

There are many rooms

But little hospitality

Simply complicating

Prodigious in scope

Responsive only to pin pricks

And clock ticks

Relative to time

Relatively the most bothersome thing I know

Only matched by an arsonist with an empty can of kerosene

Out of entries

Or back for more

Looking down at chewed nails

My hands

A bit thinner

A bit paler

Reminiscent of the teeth on an old comb

Yet they always fall out in my dreams

Giving me a sinking feeling

And gums

I become defensively mechanic

With cutting remarks

A faint copy at best

When the wit runs out

Rhyming riddles when wooden fingers whittle down to the bone


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