Stuck in the Middle with You

When you are alone, you look at the others and think that one had too much ... time to think and that one … well, you surmise, they are on the brink of some precipitous ... evaluation, about to take a big tumble, they parade monumentally, then they fall like the risen bright and shiny drunk on words a new wonderful holy smoke rolling addiction the signs are in the strokes of keys hit, but not placed, into slots that fit, or do not, you watch their thoughts and listen to yours, marked in valuable time drugged by words beating the drum like its dinner served, in metronome tick tock tick tock they release the signs big notes all in black strokes seconds before midnight poets and their poetry too much time to think they evaluate the roads watching the others, walking straight lines, some off the charts like rogue bees gone all curves they do the two-step like some ball room polished Pride of Erin, thinking simultaneously, I'm caught up, dancing, then, perplexed brow wrinkling questioning, where's the limerick dance card... to get off then you swipe left and realise, there's no margin right? beam me up Scotty with the lost others, speaking of love, oozing over ripe scribbles like honey dripping off lips licked unseen replacing misfortune with sensual limericks the romance tasted for a small corner of heaven the pearly gates well and truly wide open oh, sunny fortune in fields of roses they plough their way through the fragrant feels scents of violets and forget-me-nots fecund little deaths unheard yet somehow believed poets and their poetry ever thoughtful, chirping incessantly, kept like beautiful birds swinging exotically in their safe gilded cages minds advertising in unsolid sold unity the need to be felt for what it is worth, yet true hearts paraded unseen in the last days of their old worlds they parlay in a strange language lost in the ordinary they are haughty owls parliamentary gloved and ever ready kings and queens Candide Diderot. ‘24 stuck in the middle with you… “clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right” the word. beetles, black. “...their thoughts pirouetting words hung, the black beetles shine like exotic fresh water pearls strung...”