… a scratch.

By J. K. McDowell

August 2012

 

A blank page, the clean canvas, that patient slab of stone.

Accept or decline.  Neither completes their existence,

Nor yours – oh by the way, you never start from scratch.

 

The glass fills too many times.  Manners float away.

Our patience runs thin, just before the blood spills

He is saved, there is the irritation to scratch.

 

The bad days, best to ignore them.  There are the

Good days that spill with inspiration.  The downside

Is too often I cannot decipher my own scratch.

 

There are mixed emotions and obscure references.

Honestly, I am not enjoying your tears.

Thankfully, at least the writing is up to scratch.

 

Lie still Jim!    There is no chase, no destination.

The flares light the night sky.  Please, you must believe me

Jim, these lacerations are more than just a scratch.

 

We lay out our fears like poker cards at the call.

Eagle, or crow, or macaw it does not matter.

The touch of the holy claw always leaves a scratch.

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