While Writing

Someone inside says, "Get busy."

But I've got appointments to keep,

I have an abstemious love of equations calculated quickly

While the tepid day melts into design.

And the high cheekbones of the beautiful life

Bear the loose look of a calendar by lamplight.

I search for patterns in everything.

I am tied in knots of comprehension.

I think, how useful it might be

To pierce all the hands of the earth

With an oath of pins encircling snarling planets

But talent and shallowness sewn together

Is nothing but a kerchief tied around a survivalist's head,

And it helps to know the feet wriggling through a hole

In the universe will land for an instant

Upon the cushions of the dark,

And that after marching one doozy of a kilometer after another,

We each come upon the same poem scribbled in invisible ink

Taped to the door of a room

In which an austere justice is burning for us.

timeforINRI