I pause for a long breath.

My hands under tension with the pressure to perform.

How silent the written word.

Be it joy or anger calamity or furry.

It is a whisper in your mind.

An illusion unique to the human condition.

It is not a story I have come to tell.

That would just force my illusions to double up and never come down.

No.

I have come to hammer my blows home.

Not your home, mine.

I can not justify my life you know.

My words, drawings, and music are some insane band of irony around my neck.

This thunder is without the retort.

No flash.

It makes me angry sometimes....the futility.

I have written many love poems.

Return to sender.

So silent the written word.