Fear of Poetry

Arid and hot atmospheres of gaseous conversation

bore down on the temporal entangled mystic

trapping him in an endless loop of confusion.

Or so it seemed.

Caution with a dash of paranoia

was the order of the day

if he wished to escape these wisdoms these breathed dooms.

He waited for a chance to see the crack to freedom

and when he saw it, he struck boldly

bashing through to the light the place of no talking.

 

Where did all that come from?

I just started typing and out it came.

So this is what I need to get through to that place

where I understand in not understanding.

There is a giant tiny mind deep within

that has opened just a pinpoint

and has offered me solace against the bashing of the day.

Of all my addictions

past and present

this is one that has always remained.

It is a love offering or a virgin sacrifice or a good piss.

I give these to you with trepidation

you’ll see inside my heart

and in spite of what you’ve heard

ones heart ain’t all beauty and light.

I can’t comprehend anything

but the last word.

 

I love to add a coda, so here it is:

 

He said to me if an alligator bites you, it means he’s afraid of his own food.

 

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