Ficly

One Scosche Of A Dose Will Leave You Comatose

Perhaps I’ve
Had a lively lapse
All I craft nowadays
Are drafts
While I smile and laugh
And salivate
Unable to create
Bitter like an ingrate
Sucking vinegar at dinner
But at least I’m not a quitter
I’m one god damn endearing
Buccaneer of a babysitter, lady
I’m more than ably
Willing
To be filling
A table
Once I finagle a seed
Into the soil for tilling
There’s no stopping
The water can is spilling
And soon enough I’m lopping
Off thick green sustenance and such
Much like cropping
Pictures
Editing, belittling, blood letting, fiddling,
Offering scriptures
And lip service
That’ll skedaddle
My nervousness
In a flourish of urgent cattle
Hoofing puddles
Made of subtle elixirs
Fixing fixtures in this rubble of love
I am an administer
Of endless inventiveness
Mixing sugars with a liver’s dose
Of life
Like the one I’m on’ll spike
You one scosche
Of a hike over the kites
Where the cloud floats
Replete with cheeky
Notes for songs
You’ll be far too gone to have wrote
Completely comatose
Am I wrong?

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