where it stops

(click below for the poem’s audio)

Write one and then another

then another

and drink a little

to get back down

to the basics

the ground

the place we all came from

and will return to.

Write one today for her.

Another tomorrow for them.

A few more down the road

for whatever reason I want to,

whatever reason they need me to,

and always remember that grammar

is the equivalent to shackles.

You must know the rules before you play the game,

but you cannot let the rules dictate

your moves.

Write again today.

Put off the good stuff until tomorrow.

Just get it all out and free and loose and remember that you’ve come a long way.

Far from the wrong end of a shotgun.

Far from the sharpest knife in the kitchen.

Far, far away from the noose.

Leave it all alone and move on.

Just move, move, move it along.

There is nothing else to any of this except for the daily sins.

Of our Father,

Our Son,

Our Holy Ghost.

All of them from us.

All of us from them.

Again and again and again.

Round and round and round it goes,

where it stops only the writer knows.

~ K.J.


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