Scorpion

Motor mouths have been running up in here  for far too long

These transient freaks come into my home and start trying to run my show

They refuse to adhere to my rules, so few and far between

Slowly driving me up my own walls to the brink of going insane

They can smell the green grass that surrounds me, which is just enough to make them want to linger

I am silent like a scorpion

On the edge of lashing out at each one of them with an unseen, poisonous stinger

I do not know why I allow so much trampling upon my generosity

So much trespassing upon my sanctity

So much erosion upon my soul

Sometimes it feels as though my ability to take charge and my expertise in reprimanding has been essentially stolen

So many days and nights have come and gone

Leaving me and my daily tasks miles behind them trapped in a spinning cyclone

Never a moment to be left alone

One little mishap after the other

If its not one damned thing, it's another

I have been split apart

I  am in ten different places

All of my heirs and graces conveniently forgotten

I come across as a coiled up hissing  bitch of an asp

Mean and rotten to my core

I  make it clear and obvious as to how much they all truly bore me

They are free to go however, whenever, wherever 

But, trouble is, they really have nowhere else to go

I know exactly how that feels , for I have myself been there on every level

When they steal my livelihood right out from under my eyes, it simply awes and dishevels me

I have learned over the years that it is just the way the energy goes in this place

In this backward blackened vortex that permeates this part of the Western American grid

In these valleys that hid the true reasoning behind why ancient settlers kept moving on away from here

Even the thriving spirit of industry that once fueled its patrons has been shattered

Evaporated into nothingness

Like the climactic result of the sinners actions

Spurted out

Dried up

Gone to Hell

It is hard to say exactly still binds so many stragglers to this empty shell with its sparsely populated, dilapidated streets

That is why I stir up so much attention here

Why so many insist upon the scrutiny of the forgotten stains upon my 

bed sheets...

11-4-2012

p