It has been three days, four hours, 
76 seconds and 12 memorial moments since
I have last written a piece (a rhyme, rather)
which tells of anything that might just be
worth a read, and my pocket dictionary 
is weary and torn at the edges of its 
recurring use and keep, but there is
not a single word I recall to have read
and there is not one explanation to
what my mind keeps and what it throws
away because there is not a single
elaboration of the things I choose to
admit to seeing and those I don’t or
haven’t seen, and I would stutter words
of profanity to my insipid hands which
aren’t well kept (though perfectly clean) 
as of my continuously, without much
thought, chewing my fingernails, and the
skin which protects it, off for I would
explode if I didn’t and I would crash
the seas if I didn’t need my silly habit
of peeling apart the dead cells which
are tiny and greatly unkept, indeed; and
we can’t have that, now, can we?


2 thoughts on “Anchor

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