November 19, 2009

Understand, that one hand at a hip,

The other determined to a clench,

Doesn’t make me  mad,  or wide awake

Within intensity, or Right there at clarity.

I maybe,  I might say that definitely,

left with me..what gets done,

                                                It’s not deftly.



Of course,  What happens…Another matter.

When nature mothers me through the storm,

Without my hand near

Hot  Chaos Stew  splatter.

It’s wrong for my strong hand

To gauge the guts of what’s in the  Maelstrom,

Maybe wrong for this voice

to chime at all, with my noise,

with nature’s song sung, so deftly.



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