Saturday, June 10, 2006


Words swirl about but no thoughts stand out. How do I make sense of this present tense? I’M LOCKED UP LIKE CAPS. No compass or maps. North gives way to South and East meets West. As the dirt off my shoulder falls squarely on my chest. Busted. Flat. Ten-pinned to the mat. Mind in the gutter. Can’t barely utter. A. Single. Word. Much less string a few together. In a haze like the weather. Outside. Looking in. Is that a Sin? Then battle me, prod-cattle me. Cause I ain’t horsing around. No more. Ed. Note. That’s what I wrote. And I shall reap what I sow. So? What? Exactly.