So, today you guys get an unfinished poem, because. My conviction is still quiet, but as convicted/ing/whatever as ever. In the past week or so, however, things in my life have run amuck, hair on fire, landmines exploding ... as things in my life are wont to do. The result at the moment seems to be that I'm sitting here at ten after ten in the morning, struggling to keep my eyes open, having od'd on donuts last night, fighting to string two words together in a way that even slightly resembles something intelligent. Beer good. Fire bad. Old poem, not finished. Enjoy.*
You're looking for biddable?
I'm not it.
I tried that shit.
It didn't fit.
I burned it
Like the mythical, metaphorical bra
In a barrel in the backyard
By the dark of the moon
And salted the ground over it
Take your demure -
I'll turn my fierce into
Something Sasha wouldn't know if it bit her in the face
Blessing and curse, phenomenal and commonplace
*I searched my post archives, and didn't see it, but I have intended to post this before, at least three times, so if it is indeed redundant, forgive me.