Confessing the Unmentionable
I’m tongue-tied and flabbergasted. Swift of foot and agile of mind. I’m feigning nonchalance and lying thru my teeth. I stumble over my own shadow and eat my words. I’m under siege and sore afraid. There’s a buzzing in my head that may or may not be fatal. I no longer want to make new friends.
I spend most of my time covering my tracks with garlic and pepper spray. People chip away at my sanity like deranged stone masons. I’d like nothing better than to play harp in a washboard band.
I’m not used to writing while thinking. The idiot savant, gleefully slamming words into the blackness.
One pinhole gesture of good will and the Huns thunder thru the breech.
If you don’t get my drift, you may not have a life worth living. But that’s a dull form of bliss in its own right, so who am I to talk, chatter box slashed with longing?
My resolve to not act unkindly is shot thru with fissures.
