Posted by: Mad Mark Wirtz | April 10, 2008


The runner was in a hurry
as a prayer believed in itself
as the beginning set sails for infinity
and the book put itself on the shelf

Its mysterious plot had been raped by a missing page
that its author had torn to shreds
in a devastating fit of the blues
when his bi-polar wife left the nest

to bed his agent on Valentine’s Day
in a haze of perfume and pretense
while the scribe’s raging fury began to broil
the flesh of his vain innocence

There was nothing unique about his vile reaction
when the cork popped out of the dam
while the liberals forced their rules on the free
and a girl turned into a man

The candle’s whisper hushed the author’s night
as despair sowed the seeds for ideas 
sparking bloom by the force of manic hope
and the nurturing rain of tears

And as the pen started flying across the page
raising ruins to build a new house
the singers sang and the gamblers played on
while the hackers clicked their mouse.

(c)’08 madmarkwirtz


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