Pencil in the saddle

Trap me, it heightens
(the sensuality of
being more forward and
further).
Training to be frightened
of criticism is false
ego murder.

This (long line of
exerience) is getting
in the way, reading
with sharp teeth helps
me bite out the bit to
really work on, but
chew it your own way.

Grope the end of every word,
elope with whatever meaning
fits best, don't be yoked to these
sarcastic stanzas preening.
Suckle yolk from what's
supposed to be a joke.

Gave up all attempts to be neighbourly,
not going to
tiptoe around you on
little wicker antelope-feet,
though
it's better with a kink in the toes
and a spring in the speech.

Enough courage for one night,
stories don't work as well, it'll
eventually be outright.
Poems even work when
fresh out of insight

Contraband; illegal imagery
to be ill with, falling
into dangerous territory with a
handful of metaphor and a smirk.

Controversy is more easily
pronounced if the pencil is
in the saddle, with no
ink on my shirt.

So mistake can be
reshaped,

so

grope and
leave;

fold hands,
breathe.

AN: Perverted poetry is really not my usual style (I hope! No, I promise) maybe there's something in the water. (hopefully not nagging when I say I'd like comments, fiest and/or flames are fine by me. And to Juliet; your piece on selfsilencing did come across my mind more than once with this.) Bracket obsession relieved.

j 4/7/6