cook

i write what i am unable to speak

for the words that flow from these lips

cannot comprehend the essence of the words in my mind

the words that emanate from the tip of my pen...

…come again…

i write what i am unable to speak

for the words that flow from these lips

are broken and slow

moving behind the wings of time

unable to catch up with the rambling verses in my mind

so spoken words are left behind, stroking teeth, and tasting

swallowed lines.

the words that emanate from the tip of my pen

are golden.

like the sun on a warm, silver breeze day

rays infiltrating the depth of who you are

filling your expectations from a far

yet present right where you are,

......yeah…..right there

like the sun are the words in my pen

rising to meet your breath in the silver breeze

inhaling as you breathe in, soaking in the syllables,

verbs, intonations that exist in my words

and like the sun that just is

so are the words in my pen….just is

just being without a sense of beginnings, middles or endings

just living, breathing without thoughts of insecurities,

the need for applause doesn’t fit between this thumb and index

no teeth hitting the mic in a fit of wobbling knees,

just my poetic colored imaginations

meandering through, inside, outside of black lines

bound by sweet smelling leather, stitched with the thread of

inherited peace.

on blank pages, created to be filled by the greatness that are

my words, i write what i am unable to speak

unable to explain, for spoken words fail at times

when describing tears, wails, agonies, orgasms, happiness,

and the simple need to be loved,

i write what i am unable to speak

fist raising declarations, ah ha moments felt

around the world, doors closing behind worthless hims and hers…

and stories told in perfect harmony to the beating muse in your heart.
i write when i am unable to speak
book attached to my hand
pen morphing from sacrified fingertips,
when silence is golden, my incessent scribbling molests the silence
deeming it broken and abused.

for the words that flow from these lips

connect with the universe that is the tip of my pen

blue ink on black lines, the beauty that is written reality.

 in a fit of nouns and loquacious strokes

i write what i am unable to speak

don’t ask me to speak

don’t ask my mind to comprehend the existence of forever

for just as the sun is,

so are the words in my pen….just is.

la.moi feb 26, 2010

thanx to cook.the.poet for naming this piece for me!