Thursday, April 5, 2018

Kit Kelen #825 - alone with my words

alone with my words

all struck up
a feast
and vanish

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
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

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