life like a stiletto
in and out
staying low and hidden
till the moment of distress
these words are
a work in progress
purged and slipping
from isolated fingers
the gods laugh
as the hand trembles
and the tongue bleeds

i’ve got too many distractions
and not enough motivation
i can sit here all morning
disturbed and profane
smoking cheap cigarettes,
and waiting for explicit ideas
to become hazy expression
but it’s monday
and i’ve got shit to do
the quest has expired
and there’s no more time
to manifest this wicked game