Not after a certain word amount, quite scatted, I’m

blurbing the dirt about.  Rush to the furthest lurk

and scout my re-evaluated dissemination, I’m

left complacent; paragraph abrasion.  The columns

of the temple, like golems with a pencil, small dolls

run and embezzle; surveilled by devils; never walk

away, rather talk and stay.  Critics dissolved 2

dismay.  Airborne, my sky’s designed in my shape.

Peddle faster, crack the level’s ladder. Drown in my

symbols, anxiety dwindles.  Decelerate fate, if able.

No time to compose parables, or fables.  All papers stapled

on table.  Now what.  My mouth, shut.  Lines sprout, but..

they quickly retreat.  Shovel removed, time to dig them up.

My shuttle’s improved, mind’ll swig and strut.  Not on

par, but anyway putt.  No time to sob, too many a job.

Each critic, a goblin; no longer in their review-coffin.

Immediately see needed leads for me, Creative

feed.  Sip more red while I skip towards dread.

Forgot what I said.  Did I write it down?  No.  Scribble

slow.

(Sun, 7/15/12)