2-4-07

choose to indulge, do all things
run around, play on swings
sing those songs, dance that dance
eat too much, jump on beds
sleep naked and dont warn the people you live with
spend way to much money on gas making visits
take extra long showers
talk to your best friends for hours
sleep in all day, have a roll in the hay
read the same book three times
color outside the lines
each day for a week eat chocolate at dawn
everychance that you get, give a hug to your mom
tell your teddybear secrets
jump in puddles with new sneakers
and kiss 'neath the moon in the rain
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parchment paper holds your secrets.
secrets written by moon and candle-light.
secrets sealed with wax and rings and hidden away
from the light of day, these papers seem ordinary
in everyway, but one.
the penmanship, the slipp'ry style that encodes the work
will not give an inch; so unforgiving.
to steal away a phrase, a sweet sonnet
or any inkling into the soft secrets kept there
would be a most impossible undertaking.
your caligraphic ways have incarcerated all puzzles
so that none can come to the enlightenment
which is supposed upon the hidden papers.
'neath it all, hope lives that its not a fraud.
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this dame's got issues
shes got her fair share of stomped upon
her own personal helping of fet-up
and more bull-shit than she has storage space
this broad's got problems
she's been down that road before
so her views are skewed
but she's got cover-up to hide the scars
this doll's a mess
this skirt must confess
some where inside, she's a lady
-----

there is something wrong
something so desperately wrong
so terribly incredibly wrong that it enraptures thought
enraptures thought, creativity and all expendetures of time
of time, breath and energy of all kinds
maitaining sway, total authority of introspection and rumination
for a thing so unacertained to assert prolonged gross, totalitarian reign
engenders something akin to perpetual, eternal madness