Too much. now i’m anti-work.  make me a jerk?

both feet in hurt. i’m looking at verse, a new

one– my therapy; reflection, stare at me. can’t bare

to be this light. sleep, too far away, in night. new blithe.

ado, right. but what’s wrong? it’s provoking more song.

the end spark, I disembark. ghettoized mental parts, from

soles to where the dental starts. i could just call, quit.

instead I’m in a stalled fit. still as the doll sits.  candles,

all lit. no time 4 extensive paragraphs, apprehensive,

scared of graphs, conveniently molded mathematics.

artist extremist, aesthetic addict, equilibrium, thought

i had it.  rediscovered magic from anvils tragic. hardly

placid. approached and judged by vapids. smothered

in their rapids; my vortex entails more less; now set

in my vexed mess. finally awake at 33, averting trees

that fail to please. re-situate what I before abhorred,

not an issue late. read through years of notes for any

hope of anecdote. drone in ozone for big brother jokes;

sip again b4 i flip and send a manuscript missile and

drizzle truth; reverse face to boot. replace uncouth with

roots rooted, protruded …

(7/20/12)