(no subject)

[artisticfunk]

I believe its time again for another cryptic word twist
for some lines that could easily be about either
pencils or pincushions, knuckles or finger bones gone intertwined,
spines, vacuum cleaners, mysterious no-middle-namers,
or an action thats really an echo.

I believe it's time for you to become fairly frustrated.
At the poets.
And their misgivings, excuses, cracked mirrors and voids
fuck
for taking eleven punctual breaks prior to the point
and wasting once sacred words as skin instead of core.
All the poets want is more.

I believe there's going to be a reckoning of the senses,
an All Out battle of whats really happening
versus the words used to describe them. The scriptures.

I believe its time to take the knuckles by finger boned spine
or the indentation that the pin leaves behind
cushioning us for what comes next. Another void.
But hopefully here we see the poet in confused self-loathing,
flashlight in hand, ready for the echo. Or the action.
Or whichever stew of single rhythms leaving them all blind.