i
scribble all these words
on
the backs of scrips
and
coffee shop receipts
and
theyre not poems
but
i want them to be
so
i beat them and i bully them
i bash them and i shove them around
and
i
get
something soul-less
something mechanical
something like a to-do list
for
anxious robots
on
a
philosophy jag
im blaming the scribble words
when
its
me
whos gutless in the sandpit
playing god with my own turds
with
the force of heart and faith in the hub
and
i wash my mind in coffee
and
freezing iced water
and
instead of lunch
i
stand naked outside
on
natures green patio
waiting
for
heavy industrial rain
from iainhall.wordpress.com
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