glycerine’s glue

Life’s lottery ticket beneath
a clock that ticks five to four
close to the coffee cup stained
eyes are getting so very tired
words need to be explained

Should we drop typing keys
writing only natural ways
not sure I understand anymore
what’s to be said of my direction
fetid scripts run for the door

But on I trudge through glycerine’s glue
machine gunned rhythm rat a tat tat’s
no one will read I say or care or listen
to busy knowing what they are wanting
gathering all products that glycine

Stepping from the chair I’m hearing
noises permeating the night now
chilled ears working well this
I’m thinking as of to the garden I trot
senses kindled like the starry sky
so bright my path is true or not

Finding nothing at the bottom
of my stare I climb to my haven
carelessly laying heavy crumbs
of bread that I might find my way
back but alas all is lost as i struggle
with headless fish surely now I’m
among the miracle dead

Stripping of all old dead bark
sending dogs howling back to hell
wondering if their miracles will work
tonight or can the decadent disciple
debauch my will and lead me to
a far more pleasant sight

Penning a perfect conclude was never
going to be easy after this scurry
of words so tired of print released
only after my fight with the figure
pertaining to be holy with an
eyeful of glint upon a sunshine’s
carefree Daybreak.

As morning rises I see rare Robins
chasing Worm holes empty while an
evil Blackbird freshly escaped from
pie figures out there is plenty more
where they came from and the lottery
ticket is not the only game of chance
in town or out.