A tongue in a painful tooth,
a scab itch,
a painful truth we revisit
to gain the frame of mind,
insanity.

Viscerally deep we probe,
into the psyche in search of
insecurity.

Ignored lessons never learned,
feelings burned deep
deeper still
bore towards the core of,
instability.

The “Ins” have it.
Three or mores’ the score
against ourselves
when intuition meets in-love.

Here,
try on martyrdom,
see if it fits,
just don’t get blood on the coat,
it’s rented.

Have a dose of remorse,
just don’t sob too long
or too loudly,
it’ll make you hoarse.
Then we can’t make out the lamentation.

It’s been this way from the beginning,
with wounded people.
Nail their hearts to a star
and try to jump the broom,
or at least the church steeple.
Oops, another wound.

08/29/2007

Posted on 08/29/2007
Copyright © 2025 Timothy Somers