Short Whittle Down Poems

You dig a tunnel and blind it with velvelt
You throw a rose on the velvelt and welcome me to the throne
What do you call my crime?

You water down my wine and whittle down the sparkle
You savour my stew and make  holes in the cooking pot 
What do you say I did?

You sling stones and go under the mortar
The gods are not blind  oh you smart snake
Sooner than you think the pestle will find the mortar....

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Devices pull at my trigger
coaxing with memory vacant
to urge a splurge from me
without regret, without vigor,
an ageless chant that can't

rise to the level of ethics
or all corruption resounds
with shame the game they play.
To whittle down our passion ticks
their wave pounds as it surrounds

the magnetic magic of minds
until trudging synthetic
debit drain to pain all growth
before we beg our troubled rinds
to toss pathetic aims aesthetic....

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