Platoons of imps march up and down my street,
Threatening mayhem if I don't give them a treat!
There are cowboys, Indians and phantoms galore,
Holding me hostage at my own front door!
They present their goodie bags for me to fill;
(Giving them an apple doesn't at all thrill).
Sure, they'd prefer a Reese's or Snickers treat,
But, by jove, I'm keeping them for me to eat!
looking into the bloodshot eyes of loneliness
i witness things so gross and sweltering
the coldness of the footprints on my existence no longer injures me
the depth of my impatient hunger applies for aid not even close to distantly present
the best bet is to massage the cramps now defiant with no other choice
i bleed from the voice box praying in timelessly endless continuum
i may die from the stress of wishing for a wish's cure....
nevertheless, here i go once again with steam....knee deep in the hoopla....
Existence travels lineally
In whirlwinds of emotion
Colored logarithmically
And perceived equivocally
Expression mere epitaph
Knowledge serendipity strung
Till the bubble bursts
Frozen peaks of discovery
Cataloged in the hermitage of worth
- Mark Time -
Hermetically sealed
Peddled for a dime