The pen feels so good in my hand
Slowly
Yet surely
The rolling ocean of lyrical amazement
Falls upon this once and only and never again 10.30 o’clock
Time that will never come again
This furious scribbling
Makes it all make sense
Even if read in the sequence laid down
Laid down seriously
It don’t make no sense at all
The flowing righteousness of pen and ink
“Cool quiet and time to think”
What I deserve
The sweet gal who went home with the fireman
The dulcet tones of engagement
Denial of outcomes determined by a roll of the dice
This long running farce
Tragedy by turns
Roadshow to ruin
Rio by the wayside
Gets its due justice mercy grace redemption trust forthrightness
In each stroke of the pen and the paper absorbs the rest.
End rev2. 18 May 2010, Brooklyn 1.40 a.m.
© David Mark Speer
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