part 1 (of 3)
returning to words
(tongue to sore tooth)
like talking to myself
before a live studio audience
better kept like a secret
better to keep
in my head
to be inappropriately prodded at my leisure
picturing
thousands upon thousands of words
and not a single one wisdom
look at the source:
poking at sore spots
hiding behind sloppy penmanship
crying over spilled guts
as if pain
should be presented
this graphic
"life
isn't
one of your
little poems"