THE REST IS BETWEEN US

Large doubt. 

Nowhere near Kansas city. 

I understand nothing. 

Redundancy. 

Mess. 

 

I am not a fatalist. 

I am mostly mystic. 

And separation comes

In the form of A Muse. 

 

The other day I tried to redefine it.

But in new definition there comes

A quality that has in it an inherent

Study, the form of story, a pinprick

Of continuity.

 

Hey Vern, look.  That there’s blood.

Forget the body from which it sprung.

Blind eyes to the amateur death stroke. 

You have to have an incredible condition

To die/or kill with a push pin. 

The push pin is the muse. 

Focus on the push pin. 

 

In my hand that waits.     

Resist pace.

Find zero solace in the planets.

Metaphorically speaking,

The Muse was born in the bite

That brought the Wilderness. 

 

The Wilderness hugs.

A Muse, the Device. 

Humanity depends on it. 

 

Like a gun, spoon, fire, or accident

That cures a virus, goes “Eureka”,

And brings commerce in the form

Of medicine. 

 

It can be abused.  Distortions come.  A trap.

The process.  Omnipresent. 

 

Master it. 

 

Self:

I am going to put down the pen,

Pick up my drink, smoke a cigarette,

Stand up, walk into the living room,

Pick her up, and carry her to bed

With me. 

 

She:

As plans go, please don’t punch me. 

 

Done. 

The rest is between us. 

 

No story.