recovered from my winning spree
heeled back to the ridge of
brimming scree
tracing trepid steps, bracing dreaded depths
I
forgot how long it’s been
since I had wanted to start again
since I had wanted it all to end
since I couldn’t remember
when
it was a need-to-know: just how landslips flow
when the weight is
over
now it’s all aboard the always bored
the man of the hour’s one of
twenty-four
enough to occupy, until the next time
but there is
comfort in the coach
that keeps you right on track
that keeps
you trained to task
that holds you to the fact
it was a need-to-know: just how gaskets blow
when the weight is
over
and like a city beat boombox
and like a city street buttagots
a rumpus is harmony to some
today, holly bloomed in city square
as the suits volleyed gloomy,
pity stares
on a writer’s block, words get chopped
to form a
death sentence, I breathe
as if all I needed was inspiration
as
if all I had was not expiration
but if I’ve ever learned one
lesson
it was a need-to-know: just how branches bow
when the weight is
over