Heat on a Leash (from Fritch, Tx.)

Follow from Installment 6…

Typewriters clack with their meat cleaver keys,
Stamping their feet in red letters,
White ribbon scriptures hang cracks to the walls,
And I cant catch a break of a word.

Fragments hang backs to the rafters,
Sheets pass their last owner’s best incantations
Up into my skin with precision.

Preachers sling hooks from the plaster,
The faster they preach and the faster I reach
For the speech I relapse and retreat.

I’m ready, I’m skillet, I’m heat on a leash,
And I cant catch a scratch of a word.

I’m sweating out ink and I’m gasping,
Grievances creek in the gutter,
I reach for the speed of the speech and release…
Each word a new son to another.

 

 

 

Advertisements

3 thoughts on “Heat on a Leash (from Fritch, Tx.)”

    1. Thank you for reading and getting in touch, started as something quite different. Now it’s out in open I can’t keep going back to re-tweek… Which is probably a good thing for sleep!

      Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s