another month of near silence
pen stuck
in the mud of non-thought
journal
writing is automatic
like the
weather bound to change
in the mind
of non-thought
staring off
into somewhere else entirely
visualizing
that place not quite sitting
but
comfortable another month
a failure
in the skeptical eyes
of the
alter ego another month
of
knowledge and self scrutiny
under the
microscope and the eye
my own got
to do it alone
no one is
going to pick it up
and eye
will have to make it fly
be it's
wings at 33
turning up
everywhere
and even
here now as the fire
turns the
room smoky
and water
in a glass it would be
half full
and rising
or falling
depending on the day
the trees
are stripped
to skeleton
fingers outstretched
over the
neighborhood tonight
it's still
early...
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