Not That Type Writer

Not That Type Writer

by fLOT 

I’m not that type   writer

Deleting doubts

Selecting emotional sure-shots

More like subjectively celebrating natural selection

Tables hold things and chairs hold people

Ideally, one page feeds at a time

All the while I’m expecting jams

Of traffic, raspberry and paper and

Excepting fish of cats and dogs and

Monks with bowls turned up or down

Permeating skin surface dreaming

Under all the misconceived ideas

I have ever imagined

All inside one dream

Or one day of calamity clamoring through

Then no more calamitous events ever

Only questions without fear of retired retributions with

Crossed purposes and redirected ingredients

Listed one by one because

Nothing is ever one by two or

One by three

I’m sitting standing walking lying

On a rug, like a rug

Cutting said carpet with culinary academics

Chalk it up to cleaned up or corrupted out

If you like misdirection

I am her leader

Clearer and without all the insincere

Without the tears and without the fear

Not tense or insensitive

I’m culminating the year of months like

A sandman makes glass

Sculpturing air into the wind

Putting pine into knots

And turning would be’s into yesses

I’m fulminating right now

Jumping silently writing down how

And if indeed you need to follow

Choose yourself

Empower the hollow feeling

That never burns

By

Sparking the fire

Inside your own belly

I’m not that type   writer

 5.9.ten