Bed Rest

I got a gold chain I wish was gold,
It hangs off my neck,
I feel pulled
by the fatalities in Dallas,
jerked by the stories the civilians will have,
the lives we'll have,
after the news stations report,
Is all I really have.
I got a gold chain I wish was real,
and I'm listening to the news reporters report on the injured
and deaths of police officers.
I got no money to say, stay, relay, repay, care take.
I'm a loaf of moldy bread;
the criminally insane.
I'm a loaf of bread,
am I insane?
I got no bread, no place to lay my head? I,
I have T.V.
And the news is new to me,
I have a gold chain hanging from the corner of my bed,
here I lay my head:
Bread don't bother me in crumbs.

Winner Winner, Chicken Dinner!!

I'm trying to win the lottery. What will I do with all that money? Could I get a job? Maybe I can. I need to win the lottery. This is how I know I've won. I won. I want to have won. I want to win. Winning is wanting to win. To win is to play winning. I must have a winning victory. I just must.

The Writer is Writing

I don't have anything written. I don't have any notes. I'm afraid to open my notebooks. I'm afraid of the evil jerk. There's so much I want to write down; there are ways of writing things down, but there are many incoming words and ideas that obstruct the creative mind. The process is to write what comes to mind, now that your mind can't gather up what was once the idea. This puts the jerk away. I'm watching him play with my ideas. He's the juggler. An evil juggler that sometimes hands me what I want and other times holds what I want dearly with a grip so tight, I slip. I'm the slipping juggler and he is me. I hold things dearly and he holds my thoughts with a grip so tight, I slip. I'm afraid of the evil jerk. I fear the most. He holds them dear. I hold my life in a hold that allows the jerk to know more.