Maybe I’ll Keep It

my ashtray doubles as an hourglass,

counting down to imagined brilliance.

that is, until it's written. then

it becomes an insidious cliche,

little bastard brain baby I'm stuck with.

so I do what anyone would,

grab a bottle. and start feeding

until this little written idea starts

looking good again. maybe someday,

years from now, some desperate reader

will allow it to penetrate soul and

conceive something more. probably

a little notion of a mutant thought

with an activist heart, gets the heart

from the reader. As long as it sounds

a little like me, all this word splurging

will have meant something, years and years

from now, long after my ash-fueled

clock stops flowing.