This is a far fetched poem
With no knowledge where it is going
And least of all concerned with a beginning
Middle,end. It is a lameless,aimless
Piece of off-the-cuff meaningless mouthings
That just moved in on me uninvited
As though I were a public convenience for
Lurching piss-artists to unload their poorly made
Language in the strangness of silent light.

It is, quite frankly, an imagined 'I' distanced from
The real 'me' of me.It is an inexpressable force
Gathered from some unexplainable,unfaithful memory
That offers to you oxygen to revive dying words
Seeking to escape some unconfrontable shit
Seeking pure unadulterated lost innocence. This
Is spontaenuous madness masquerading as genuis
Running endless sands in some time warp under the
False rain and faked image of a long-ago ancestor
Who tells me why sand and water is unfathomed distance
Rising in my throat with murmurings like old
Monks at dawn meditations, this,as I say,a far-fetched
Poem with no rime nor reason for being
And having been leaves the stage to go on again and again
In search of a poet...
*