Jen Juice

Wine windows my bureaucracy of tales
How she goes
And oh, how once It was
And never well
Looted by the night
Thoughts escaping
To find serenity
Writing juggles my senses
Like the man that beckons
The little people in the muddy chair
At the stop sign
Under 5th and 2nd
Yo-yoing his wording
Like the manifestation
Of the sold sacrament
Sweeping through
The memories and the steps and so on….
Ticking the tock
As a semblance of
The addiction and the rock
But… I’m no martyr to time
Not even when you just gotta know
When the time and date you will die….
Sincere apologies straddle my ability
To feel okay with the
Phantom of notion
And the no embrace
Even when you can’t hide
Behind this pinching flesh-feeling

How about start breathing
And we’ll find the answer.

This entry was posted on June 28, 2011 at 8:35 PM and is filed under Jencerpts.. with tags Cancer, Confined, Death, Mind, Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.