Kit Kelen #552 - without the itch

552

without the itch

notes towards a little essay on ideology

without the itch

no dots to join

no little welt, no telltale line

scratch and your number comes

a tattoo tear, a join

without the plates, no continent

without the turn, no fold before

then sheep are stray

night never falls

without the wish

the light let out

we would be all unsneezed

without the ache

no stretch against

without the rasp, no berry

without the trap

no ratty thoughts

without the tiger, you tell me

no feet? no forward motion

without good sleep, no morning

if not the roof

a sky falls in

without a death

no stone to tomb

no little bird to light

without the door

the day is kept

consider, that is all I say

without the ant, no honey trail

without the dollar shines, no slum

no qwerty without quick brown fox

no bear in there but goldilocks

and tickle, no trust

but a hand shook off

without the fear, no unknown gods

without the gods, no lightning strikes

gone without saying, without full attention

without to-stand-for all fall down

without salute, no flag

without the beggar's hand, no coin

no time without the present

but clock keeps on

without the Blake-light plough

no worm ever forgiven

without the grey of terrier,

no dogging at the heels

no bandicoot, no boudoir

without the truth

no one in charge

no tricks without illumination

no table times, no contents

without the tune, no sympathy

without the heart, go wordless,

ragged, limp

let float

like angels must

they're mist within

and mainly cloud outside

sans seraph, we're homonculi

and make a bed for treetops

wild!

then it's succubi, baby, up there

without the scabs, no picket line

without the boss, no bastard

without the far

no hearth, no past to glory

without the memory, no stick

without the thumb, no drive

no wheel spins the disc

without the Romans

not a moment of peace

if not celestial, no umpire

without the roos, no wire slipped under

or noose around the long commute

without the trumpet, no last call

the pub goes on all night

without you're gone, I'm hardly here

without your call, I wilt as well

without the where-we-were, no map

no niceties without the wall

no dainties bar the head in jar

pickled or else salt

waste of a pike or leather for stripes

that's their kind all over

without the stretch, no somersault

without the workings, no wind down

no gold without the digging

without the notes towards, no lines

without the law, no theft of life

without the lie, no justice

without digression

no event

without the numbers – you add up!

the here because you-guessed-it

this leads us back

to the horse-shoe nail

without the cart, no hay high sprung

to ride for home

no barn loft

then you've no conception

without the itch

no dice