My Six-by-Six My writing cube is six-by-six
where foggy feelings turn to print.
Old clouded eyes attempt to fix
a skewered thought, a fleeting glint
of Light, to grasp eternal truth;
‘tis worth the reaching forth, forsooth.
Where foggy feelings turn to print,
their bleeding runes may wet the page,
or seek more somber, darker tint
to sober up—great thoughts assuage.
It's fascinating how they spread
out helter-skelter, run ahead.
Old, clouded eyes attempt to fix
on this or that, these letters speak…
but sometimes they’re too fast. My tics
will tend to lodge my tongue in cheek,
where eye teeth blindly bite and clench
on shallow veins that cannot quench.
Askew, red thought, a fleeting glint,
a spark, a flash of clarity—
some streaked delusion on a stint
of folly seeking parity
with wisdom—empty words in mask,
unable to complete a task.
A flight to grasp eternal truth
comes crashing to the ground, afire.
great swelling voice descends, uncouth
to wallow, hoarsely in the mire.
Proud, silent night owl spreads its wings—
then twangs out tunes on rusted strings.
‘tis worth the reaching forth, forsooth,
to write with grace and eloquence...
and, crooking pinky, sip vermouth...
but my bent quill inks
aberrance that's much more suited for a swill
o’ grog.... ah, such a bitter pill.
© MLee Dickens’son 26 April 2006