I gave you up to see the difference a month without poetic words would be.
The truth is this, many images thoughts and musings went to die in a sea of letters, crying to be saved.
Cruel, though the exercise was, in denial I found a truth,
words are a doorway to understanding and acceptance.
Words truly are a universal bonding.
Unlike a pill repeated every four hours, words need to be taken continuously.
This I found was quite sublime, surreal and sensuous,
the addiction to sounds in words,
the addiction to vowels and consonants,
the addiction.
On holiday I read the in flight magazine and pictured myself in the basket weaving scene!
I sat and made a rhyme out of the ingredients list on a bottle of HP sauce.
My madness continued, with a limerick in the supermarket,
but they were not written down and they faded away like ink on a parchment.
So, gingerly I have returned to the sea of words to swim and describe the view from shore.
Before my addiction to words leads me to carve in my soft skin;
"Lexicographer is Legion"
"Lexicography is King"

The needle you loved,
The needle you cuddled
While we were in dirt upon the floor,
Voices raised in soliciting ways,
Another ten too go in your arm,
"Did you ever think of us"
Did you every see love through
Blurry,
Forgetful,
High,
On the liquid perferting your arm,
We were your blood
We were your lineage
But all you saw was annoyance,
Crying,
Fearful,
Scared
As the next on the revolving door
Smiled, and shoved us away as he left,
Another ten in the arm"
You were quiet, still, no longer
Moaning at are cries for food.
They arrived because of the smell
Because of cries heard through paper walls
Our mother
Loved the liquid
Our mother
Loved less,
All because she need the high more.
We were taken from the decay,
Needles caressing, seeping upon the floor,
And we were in warmth,
Cared for by strangers
More than our blood who loved the needle
More than she could, would ever care for us.

the Internet sets
higher aspirations

a teaching guide,
on how to

go beyond and deep into
the fast lane's curved and wide,
stretching
the straight and narrow

longer than lasting,
lasting no longer than
memory feelings
blurred overlapping burnt edged video recordings

pores pour oil and noise,
differentiating little between
beginning ending continuous

in the mind, from the walls,
Santana Rob sings "Smooth,"
but it is
the guitar wailing controlled penetrations.
a national anthem
of driven perpetual needy fomenting
outspoken physical truths

you don't care how you
got there,
where you are,
anybody's name,
high octane high performance

*** today,
is not for
the shy and the retiring, sissies,
we all got the necessary expertise,
with violin accompanist of pharma teaching aids

recalling first time tumblings,
exhaling
deep down throated rumblings,
rushing
fumbling ******* an ****** innocence
rushes of surprise and discovery,
success of feeling successful,
the shame of miscommunications

think I'm gonna watch me
a romantic comedy,
write her a love poem,
come up from behind,
caress her *******,
kidding kissing her ear lobes,
then entering her entry point,
her neck
even when she is
armed
but forgiving,
busy chopping dinner's vegetables,

make them make them
give up the hidden
soft atonal squealing
like a
piccolo on steroids,
high pitch teasing,
pinched by air ****** intaking

I'll play the bass,
hitting those low notes,
******* my own strings,
deep ooh's and aah's
diode emitting,
the drug employed
is unadulterated
wanton but wanted
desire

this won't be the poem of the day,
no mind,
it already is was and
will be...

I left my heart in the top pocket of her denim jacket,
The sickly sweet sugar of her bubblegum rubbing off on it
Making it less heavy, making it beat steady
And each time I saw denim in my mirrored reflection
I wondered if she stole my heart to keep as her confection.