Stop Drop Roll
My mind is up to trickery,
to find the words like chicory,
rhyme them with words like hickory,
and keep this poem going.
Rarely do I know,
which way the ink will flow,
how far the words will go,
and exactly what they're showing.
But something must be said,
to keep at bay my head.
So visions can't be seen and felt,
like the swelt upon the dead.
Forgetfully remembering,
unlearnedness of soul.
Restless forever searching,
out things I think,
I do not know.
I must stop this fire here,
I must stop,
and drop,
and roll...
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