Some mysteries are best left unsolved.

01/24/2012 § Leave a comment

I wrote this, the poem below, after all it is in my hand… written out in pencil, I found it tucked away in my corner nightstand. I don’t remember penning this rhyme, is it that this memory was erased by time? It has all my hallmarks ,it has all my thoughts so eclectic. I simply wonder why it is so septic. Is it mockery, me thumbing my nose to someone casting misery? Is it half a thought, an idea for a plot? I may never know from where this poem flowed, it may last until the ends of time, as my most mysterious rhyme…Nonetheless enjoy!  


I need not those fables to live a healthy death.

In the spores.

In the roots.

In the filthy whores.

In the new wool suits.

Among the fowl.

In the clouds.

In the milk.

On the brow.

In whispers and condemnations.

In death we will surely meet again .

No need to state what has natural been.

No gifts of treats no acts or feats no refreshment of affections.


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