Pacing this floor,
contemplating more, my
propensity for content is trigger happy.
I’ve got nothing to lose… except these
lifelong blues in faded shades, since
I’ve paid my dues and all the thirsting blades
are now dull against my skin.
Still, the surface gets scratched, then
burned a little by the snatch… and
I don’t like the stains that remain in view;
thoughts get lost in the ugly residue, so
it’s time to cleanse these wounds.
Been operating the gentle cycle,
careful not to ever stifle the
Universal process, but this mess must
be a test – stretching the tension in my
The outcome is an open-ended one,
as bloodlines flip their wet blankets
across the skyline, blocking my view
of any horizon.
tracing, facing, scrubbing to erase
these filthy marks.
It gets so hot ironing out these layers
fluffed and folded by haters, who
stack up their dirty laundry in my washroom.
Lately, I’ve been running low on soap;
thus, today’s grit is carrying over
to tomorrow’s load.
Sometimes forgoing the wash is best –
proceed directly to trash mode.
But I’ll think on it…
for a minute, at least;
see if I can possibly tame these beasts
before I cut off their reach,
wring out the drip of their stench,
til I learn to practice what I preach.
It’s been a long time coming –
the summing up of this basket.
A few will hang to dry; the rest,
dropped just past the casket.
No more space in the burial ground;
flames will have to swallow this.
For, without remiss, my temple
will show and shine without the soiling.
The sweat and tears of this life’s toiling
is due for a come-up.
Newsflash: Riffraff, playing in the muck,
it’s cleaning time…
and you’re all washed up.
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