Walking Stick

Let it all out, they say
And on one line, no less
In verse or in purse
Pour it all out
Lay it all on the page
Or the table
And summon your demons
To the card game at dusk
Play with them 'til dawn
You're certain to win
For if they're all there they will cancel each other out
And yet this lengthy exhortation
Fills not my sense of damnation
Unbeliever's unwavering sense of downwardness
Yet the piano contradicts
These rotten biased edicts
Rhyming through dissonance
And vibrating the soul from the middle on out
And so on and so on and so on
And so on and on
Continue, you say
What choice is that, I ask
And power is not in play when you ask
But it is
For the question forced me to consider
And so I am at the whim, once more
I bow to the realities of the environment
And write sentences as poetry
And scribble poetry as salvation
From the disappearance guaranteed
And slip into mortality speech
And undermine the title screech
Whittle
Whittle
Remove the bark
And sandpaper smooth
Only achieved
Through wood removed