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 |    10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind |
| On audio book number 20, I could tell from her eyes she was still not home. Doesn’t listen to romance, close enough to spin to dance. I know she’d give the mystery up, if I offer my hand. But, middle of the day, sun burning, she’s far, far from my horizon. By morning, I’m late to get up. She’s had her first cup. I text, not sure if her ears will heed calls of the late bird, pleas of attention. ‘Whatcha on?’ ‘On to twenty-one’. Where is the fun in words you can’t see without words you read with your vision, decide right pronunciation, character direction, accent and tone and proper inflection? Read between the lines? Guess.What.The Writer let-be-known without stage direction? If something in the wings awaits her attention? If he offers a hand, fear for misdirection? What plan after 21? The night sets, and I fear the morning comes. Sleep as late as I can to find she’s moved on, with more land, water and sky to displace me to unihabitable, remote island, dared to send wisp-smoke signals high, sketch this sky before blur epitaph, ‘please come home’, as an exposed fire’s flames die. 6.2.24 {dropnote:"I’m just holding out"} Until words will spill out. It’s not hard to rhyme, afforded the time. Wish I had places to be, People to see. Limited Is me. Wo Yeah…no, be… Deliberately dramatic…poignant, sentimental, done ironic yet tragic (seriously). Satire no longer inspires… I just seem to get to do what I want nowadays. Where’s good ol’ conformity? I’ll sit in my cage. Okay…that…that right there…go any way you want. I’m bored. So, I just put myself in jail. She read the poem before this. If I link, she looks. Ask for a review, Not anymore. The poem before this … ‘I got a chuckle.’ Best comment in a while. Now, I leave it, her, kids, be. This is dad’s thing. Everyone, to your neutral corner now. TMI/don’t care Tell it like it is, get sat on I emote and write. I write to emote. Self-inflicted (book title?) Hmm. |
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