SCOTT WHEATLEY
OUR BEST WORK ON BOTH SIDES
Downright and utterly muddled
unforgettably flabbergasted
outstretched, shaven extravagantly miles upon miles
each end painted with a stench of roasting chicken
blistering, piled three stories high
left to rot and linger, claw and peck because of proximity
The penthouse of life is intolerable at times
Poor forgetful souls, lonely denounced saps
Someone to bend and plead, youthful minds contrived
eyes trudging along with circles of sleepless nights
feet worn thin, tender to touch, scuffing along on bone
the truth infrequently spoken, a rare slip of the tongue
downtrodden; elapsed time spent hunched over
mingled in with a mild conversation to remind me of my dedication
encased in a fancy wrapping; mere decoration
a closer examination, a lighthearted touch of your finger
Finally revealing an exposed frustration
seeping and seething with lines of hatred and insults
raucous voices closed with a tight slap
unformed thoughts have been ravaged and pummeled
Squares, cookie cut perfections of conformity
Dead silence broken sharply by the shriek of a baby
over and over again, as ideas melt into a piece of this soliloquy
wrapped neatly in power and lucid stability
Rest my weary soul, for sworn words have been broken