writing tonight
is extracting thorns
from tender spots
with shaking hands
gripping rusty pliers
a lesson in
agonizing futility
dripping pus to
stain any hope of beauty

less frustrated
more resigned
scribbling another fucking poem
a half drank pot of
coffee with a shiny
oil slick reflecting
the faerie lights dancing
recklessly within my
own brand of insular insanity

i thought i could
buckle down and try
to knock it out
before the kids arrive
but that was just more
fooling myself into
thinking anything
is possible even in
the face of my own
extravagance of
self predicted failings

my guts must be
shiny and smooth from
the constant tumbling
of anxious worries
river stones replacing
essential organs as
i calcify in this
redundant acceptance
in frustrated resignations