Kit Kelen #825 - alone with my words

825

alone with my words

all struck up

a feast

and vanish

dreaming

they are not things at all

and blue

just try to call the colour

when words won't agree

a heap I tell to castle

let others worship here

afraid I must offend them

make myself sleepy with play at the keys

take a shower

is there some bounce?

my word

all coiffure

whipped to great height

that was my toilette

and holy

often dealt in anger

making them up

I mean

on the spot

slip slide in

smear

and rub them

little lamps

a headsup for my words

they are always ready travel

in any case

open the hatches

climb snug for the ride

sneeze at

my words are an open book

they hang out

as one leaf fallen tells the forest

succubi baby in the treetops

are they mine?

words stole me away

but I call them my country

this is the thing passed on

to be sneezed at, not

often they have rounded on me

'young fool'

'old wrinkled oaf'

they say

yet there's wiggle room with them

and I still kneel to pray

in the mirror

I'm talking to myself again

over our heads the pictures float

they could be hands around my throat

pounce on them

and they strike back

who said that they might rhyme?

some sun shone through

and seasonable, changing

some are breeze borne

many fallen

they make away with

then we're gone

and I'm not telling where...

I might

come to me dreamy-eyes

in love

and you were there

you're with me now

there's bleating

old socks

often tossed

crossed out

and map adorning

I believe that no one owns them

although wars are fought

say what?

I'm sure we can't have come this way

this we-all-otherworldly

could not have come at all