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Poem

i've been
writing like
i've been
possessed

my goal
isn't money
my goal
isn't success

but i know
that my world
would unfold if
i were told you no

longer trode
upon it's soil
or to allow
mud to come

between your
toes or your
nose never
to steal a

sniff off of
a newly
bloom
ing

flower

but i will
always
write
of

you and
always
about
you

so dance your fairy
dance around a ring
of mushrooms that
only come out at

night
and so
showing
me the door

that will
take me to
the king of the
wee folk or lore but

he can
no more
do what he
didn't do the 

midnight before
and so sour 
and sore
from

kneeling in
prayer's form
i beg not to be
asked visage no 

more
to my yes
occipital lobe
as mechanics 

become viewers
and i can see the
Titanic sink below
the waters that she

walks
upon

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