WRAP IT
A Steve Thing
More vague than unclear are each causes alibi.
I choke on sour taste as I maneuver to slide by.
Feelings bunch up, they crouch within my throat.
My tries to set them loose just causes a group float.
It’s smiles I want in greed’s own count of more.
Longings oft drown in contamination's pour
of severe thunder reared, heavily fake dank air ~~
ill aimed at my wants, soft dreaming atop mohair.
I want to make it complete,
just take this life and wrap it up,
tied all nice and neat.
BUT … my scissors edge is bland
and they shake in my hand;
… my paper is worn,
the golden edges torn;
plus, my tape won’t adhere
... oh …
say,
could I be in the wrong sphere?
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