Sometimes…

I’m confused

and my words get all twisted

and tangled

like a fly in a web

or cluttered like a desk

or sounding all wrong

like a gong, a long song,

or just an out-of-tune guitar.





Or they shake on my tongue

and stumble about like a drunk

or a bum and start sounding way-out

wild and crazy

or just plain stupid

or messed up or dumb or

like they don’t know where to go

or what to say or what to do,

and, sometimes, before they can form coherence,

everything gets dark and the music stops,

and rain begins to fall and THEN . . .





NOTHING makes sense.





#2 National Poetry Month



