chipping paint

that would be nice
breeze blowing smoke back into eyes
staring directly into sunset on the porch
the neighbors are all inside
no one has to say anything
to say that would be an understatement
to say something when there is some on the mind
and it won't come off
like chipping paint
under where he sits
doesn't matter who would notice the changes
as they happen
to catch a finger in the door
shuts the light with a strong wind
blowing idea into lungs
like a shotgun blast
or into the mast of this tall ship
sailing out of view
until the bottle is turned around
nothing blocking an exit or entrance
into another thought would have heard
by now everyone is gone
back to where they think they need
to be somewhere else
might look better but what's inside
what needs to change how strange
thoughts get printed
and sometimes there is a mistake
or too many words cluttering
up one mind left unopened
a can of confusion
simple not plain
the story never ends...