Blood In The Ink Well

 
 
 
“The most beautiful things are those that madness prompts and reason writes.”
—Andre Gide  
 
 
These Chaotic , Neurotic , Psychotic , Hypnotic Semiotics ,
 
Guiding Robotic Idiotic Logic Like Mental Medicinal Tonic
 
A Mind Spasmodic Calmed By Narcotics Causing Dianoetics
 
And How These Effects Affect One's Dialect Language Code
 
Not To Erode Neural Wiring , Firing , Or Any Desired Abode
 
Of Consciousness , Though Madness Is A Method I Profess
 
And Confess Works For Me To Deal With What Some Call Reality
 
Morality , Normality , Banality , Commonality , Factuality ,
 
When It Is All Such A Corporeal Temporality Split Personality
 
Between Spirituality And Practicality Break It Down Totality ,
 
Does Your Cult Of Personal Individuality Have Any Substantiality
 
Is This A Criticality , Or Just A Technicality When It Is A Plurality
 
Of Perception , Or Misconception , I Could Mention Self Deception
 
A Regression Of Connection Sensed By Verbal Inflection Detection
 
An Impression Of Expression Causing Aggression Natural Selection
 
In Some House Of Correction Mental Map Projection A Predilection
 
Toward Perfect Diction Though Slang Slung It's Sling Thus Bringing
 
Linguistics With It's Cryptic Characteristics And Ancient Lexicostatistics
 
To Another Crossroads Mystics Find So Intrinsic To The Synergistic
 
Heuristics , By Word Twist Of The Wrist Tricks , And Paralinguistics
 
Neurolinguistics And Psycholinguistics Which Can Bring In Futuristics
 
And Then We Got The Prophetic Poetic Alphabetic Becoming Genetic
 
By Literary Biology , Shall We Speak Of Sociology , Or Even Psychology
 
In A State Of Morphology As Words Chanted Bring In Art Of Musicology
 
Penned Beat Rapped , Muse Tapped , Mind Extract , Gotta Be Exact
 
Or You Be Bitch Slapped , Deck Stacked Against You In The Final Act
 
Inept If You Can't Adapt , Handicapped In The Abstract , A Must Redact
 
Speech Act Accessory After The Fact Retract Or Mutual Poetic Suicide Pact
 
When Someone Reads You The Riot Act As Some Unique Critique Sneak Speak
 
Technique Doublespeak To Create They All Got Mystique When They Speak Greek
 
 
II
 
If One Is Hare Brained Does A Poet Have A Rash Of Madcap Schemes ?
 
Are They Thoughts Wrought Always Late Around Time Space Themes ?
 
Are They Thunk While One Gets Drunk On Crumpets And Spiked Tea ?
 
If Ears Are Long Is A Brain Any Smaller Is A Compensatory Mystery ;
 
 
If A Long Haired Rabbit Got A Mohawk Would It Stir Up Talk On A Walk
 
How Many Carrots Would It Diamand , Or Would It Be Salary For A Stalk ?
 
And If So I Want To Know If Longer Ears Would Tend To Burn Any More
 
If I Showed You A Cookie And A Bottle Could You Find The Hidden Door ?
 
 
Do Hares Take Larger Quantum Leaps Than Just Most Brain's Little Bunny Hops ?
 
If They Go To A Cutter On The Barber Free Coast Is The Most They Want A Lop Mop ?
 
Do They Tell Horse And Carriage Men A Joke About A Furry With A Syringe On Top ?
 
Okay My Rational Just Flew Out The Window With A I Care For You Pigeon I Better Stop !
 
 
III
 
I Got Blood In My Ink

Well That Is What I Get  
 
For My Cutting My Skin  
 
To Let More Of Me In  
 
Schizophrenic Twin  
 
Is That Such A Sin ?
 
If A Had A Rash Shun All
 
It Stepped Out To Lunch
 
Or Maybe Never Came Back
 
After Last Sin Day Brunch
 
Sitting In My Own Mad Nest  
 
Spud Buzzard In My Private Idaho
 
I Got Seam Stress Like Any Sew And Sew
 
Just Another Sane I Teased  Test
 
Or Captain Of My Ship Brain Crunch
 
When They Gave Me A Flobotomy
 
It Felt Like A Train Wreck Lobotomy
 
Penning With My Blood In My Ink Well
 
Is Writing A Spell For A Poet's Mental Hell



And This Is Why I Write

Words Heal , Words Bite
 

   
 
   
   
“We are all apprentices    
in a craft where no one    
ever becomes a master.”    
~Ernest Hemingway    
    
   
    
 
I wrote the perfect poem    
Then I read my recent one    
I drew the perfect picture    
I forgot I'd drawn a better one    
     
I got the perfect marriage    
But I wondered why we fought    
Nobody is perfect they said    
Who is this "nobody"? I thought    
     
Sometimes when I tune my guitar    
Keys end up in a perfect line    
It's that moment of satisfaction    
I know I will skew it the next time    
     
In this stage, you're an actor    
I'm an audience at your play    
Who would play my role    
When I'm gone, far away  
     
That's why I write my story    
One chapter at a time    
Because my words will live    
Even after my time    
     
It may not be a masterpiece    
But it'll reflect me correctly    
As my Father created me      
By his own hands perfectly  
   
   
   
   
   
   

“I always start writing with a clean piece of paper and a dirty mind.”
—Patrick Dennis

I took the bristles of an old scrub brush
to get to those gnawing thoughts
but I couldn't get past
the physical barriers;
I couldn't get it up into the scalp
where the dirt resides.

The purity was short-lived,
the endless parade of ideas
and moral complications
have dogged that space
for decades.

Too many influences
for an impressionable soul
to keep a tight seal
on fantasies and persuasions.

But like a clean, laundered sheet
the blank page of pristine white
proves to be accommodating
to the spill of these deviances
and supporting secretions.

But I can't be reborn,
grime don't cease.

Every blank page
is another invitation
to leave a stain.