Unlocked.
a vessel
there are a thousand other words
that can be used instead
but the best is the image of
an empty vessel
something that’s created to be used
unadorned or flamboyant
earthen or plastic
but alone, empty
waiting
fill me
use me
I’m nothing on my own
shape me
mold me
Abandoned but not alone
Beaten, but past the point of no return is the sea
Finding the way to the sea
Torrid, filthy, terrifying, exhilarating
Treacherous
The Greek chorus telling the tale
Not thriving but surviving
This whole night’s been bad and you’re just a part of it
Such fearsome want
Despite themselves
Spinning thoughts hurled out in epithets
Spray painted by a revolutionary
Proclaiming gibberish
Too cool to translate
When even they don’t recall the meaning
They’re so far down; they’re not even on the map
Drawn together inexorably
Follies of boys
Fighting for ten square feet of ground
It’s still on
Bloodied
Who wants to hide
Exhausted
The future is ours
Demoralized
What about me, baby
Pushing on numbly
I’m having a good time, let’s go
You never know what you’re gonna run into out there
there’s a cowboy at the corner store
a showgirl in his truck
he’s dusty from the trail
she’s covered in stale glitter
I can think of six stories
and two limericks
right away
but catching his sad eyes
and her vacuous gaze at the horizon
I reckon on leaving their story
just a picture in my mind
falling somewhere between needing a winch or a ratchet
to get out of bed and hurl my thoughts to the ether
lining up the letters on the iron press
hands sticky and stained with ink
did Ben Franklin realize the eventual turn of publishing
would turn to posting inane chatter and horny thoughts
and silly pet pictures and pithy quotes
and where was I going with my hammer
what I really need is a shovel or a spade
to bury myself deep within you
and if hardware and tools aren’t sexy enough
next time I’ll try sugar and fairy dust
just let go
hearing that chanted
from the ivory tower dwellers
irked me to no end
no end in sight
for either I fell into struggles
or created them
how do I let go of my skin
the words sunk in so long ago
they only seemed to fade
with the bruises
but they’re all still there
in one mangled heap
unclaimed but not forgotten
when I let go, it will end
but I have more to say first
The Word Rummager 