the words graft themselves to the paper in a dance

prancing, per chance, to glance at themselves as if to laugh

shall they sense a self which everything else has felt?

prithee, I cannot tell thee, prithee I cannot lie

like a wallow in the mire who desires nothing sought

like a soldier forever colder—semper fi, semper fi

crawling through the muck—am I stuck? am I stuck?

thoughts pound through the pencil—when will they be caught?

a skulk amid the white space

melding and welding that has stopped

paper fraught with turds and verbs

but meaningful it is not

dreaming din bottled within

what followed was swallowed by the depths

writhing through the concrete beneath my feet

tentacles manacled many fold much untold was left

chisel, chisel, chisel, to scratch and deface the surface

to give purpose to what may be worthless is a noble goal

fold the page many times until the sublime no longer mimes

the steps it means to take within the moment’s soul

deliver deliverance?—mere happenstance like a sliver

the point comes from the quiver within oneself one finds

seeping through the crack, a tatter scrunches through

the thoughts come out in bunches—veritable punches?

simply landing where they’re due

splotches strike the paper quesily, uneasily

the drops teetering but never petering—who really knew?

in the randomness the patchwork plies its trade again

the mess is tandem, coupled and, um, a start with a stop

unlikely rhythm reams the scheme and riddles on and off

strings are pulled but I am a fool as the marionettes shudder to life

they fail and dangle at a disturbing angle like the unborn kites that they are

swaying allays any fears made by limp limbs feeling only numb

drive the feather deeper into the well until it is ruffled and rife

with strife and vigor and ripe with rigor weaving an erudite sum

squeeze until tears fall from the torn rags

wring until a smile can be pried from the pain

stain the floor until it can bear it no more

painting the jagged crags like flecks of snow

the white dust climbs a windy ladder

plucking chimes in a frisky manner

until a melody cascades in my ears

nearing what appears a soluble collusion

words slowly blend themselves into the paper in an embrace

gracefully is the case, leaving not a trace

as to its agonizing origins