Bloggers

Those clever little devils tap out words
into their glowing units all across
the USA. They pick like greasy birds
at every hopeful seed I want to toss
into the soil for flowers. Why? Like me,
they love the body more than they love soul.
Instead of letting words dance themselves free,
they make them move from pose to pose. No hole
too deep to fester in. No mask too fierce.
So cold, encoded in a streaming new
facade: let that be me. I'll learn to pierce
you with my wit. I don't, I won't love you.
No way. It's time to make an ordered art
out of my mind and let that stand for heart.