Art is like a fart... it comes unasked
with unsavory aromas and an
unlikely return... and yet,
you know it must just come.
How appropriately unjust.
That's the jest... better put all reason to rest.
I just wanted a little nap, a reason to escape
on a couch with no reason to wake.
In a mind unsound with rhythm and wine
there trembled a small and resonate quake.
I had to wake... to bake a cake, to tame a snake.
The words were there and I got up to stare...
at a computer screen... a dumbed down stare.
Oh blessed curse...what the hell was that verse?
Wisps of clouds and a slip of the tongue
is a poetic license to the very young.
I'm not that dumb.
Forgotten in an instance, but I'm still here.
It was important at the time, but now I just
laugh.
I'm still here!
Waiting.
Ya gotta know the caterpillar
to be the butterfly.
Oh my, how wry.
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