nothing comes to mind

a book of poetry is never finished
it goes untouched, alone
it is no friend of mine

i do not like the rhyme
its near my bed instead

"wouldnt it be funny if instead money
we had only honey
our wallets would be quite a mess
these are things in my head i confess"

how can you read such pitiful banter
it doesnt touch you at all
its either mindless drivel
or cheerful endeavors
the meanings are always to
open and blue. no place for inner inspection
weve been inserted divered postponed
the message is lost or undecidedly clear
there is nothing for me here
too deep is this canyon
its range underwater
i'm skiing and it's indoors
the prose hits my nose and up it goes
and i feel no magnetic attraction
the style keeps changing
the wording verbose
next

stop.

get out of my head.
was it something He said?
i can't forget that one though
i try
a vallium, an upper for supper, you'll see
i'll forget all this nonsense real soon
but before i cant handle
any verse in this fashion
i must be remarkably board
or obnoxiously sloppilly drunk
for if you dont save me
or slap me i pray
i'll be prey - victim of his will i be
he got me again, thats it, im in
in his lost train of thought
a tunnel and its taking me down
and around
its never been this bad before
Doesnt he stop
isnt he through
is there a mechanical malfunction
i think hes morrose and depraved and deprived
i think i'll start a line too.
perhaps i could write, i'll just take a bite
it can't possibly be that hard
now what comes to mind
is i have to unwind
and this may be just my thing
i set pen to paper
and stanza to verse
and google all my wording first
i'm in charge and i'm living large
i'm going to show you poetry

let this be a lesson
yep! this smith and wesson
will kick the sh** out of you
 
-write on