Intestinal fortitude, cutting thru the floor
of the limbo between “False” and “True”
cutting thru.
Dedication is black & blue
seeing red for the passed trials of the past DAZE
old & new, private & public school.
Ha! A new set of rules to watch body paint dry to…
If taken seriously,
this fog will obscure the whites of their eyes!
Tangling reel-to-reel tape, trying to rewind
and back step?
We can’t go back, so what are we resurrecting?
What are you thinking?!
Why is there internal lecturing, if humor and depth have
fully swept thru?
Life and Death
still exist!
Life sticks like glue
Death bounces off the philosophical thought we conclude.
“Bunny” flasks and bad intentions segway to the INTERLUDE.
A free ride…???
“Why would we try and sneak thru?”
Who got into The Gates with a counterfeit stamp on hand?
This is the HUMAN, CREATIVE, realm.
Set up camp
build a crib to play in!
Writing…And being blinded by this scorching desk lamp
forget it…
Multiple hand cramps
you come so fast!
I write for blind eyes that absorb life
and can still, brag about what they see

forget M*****…? (Ha HAH !)
The graphic design can’t possibly equal
the magnitude of fun & games
dirty names.
Tripping off the time
TWELVE MIDNIGHT and still stuck in a pattern
stuck in the rhyme.
Paranoid feelings
Only a finger can blind any further
and curse her
Scratching down the words to YELL AND SHOUT
with PRIDE, to feel so alive…
“Oh no! …
I died…
Oh well…”
…And still fight to build a path
to strive on.
Here is a PEN
a love letter to this artistic blood-letting,
that, if allowed, will never end.
Follow me into the flames
the Pit of Passion and Desire
the rush received, from barely cutting the right wire.
Bombs explode, in creative mentality.
Flowing dreams push thru demographics of urban or suburban.
Segregated confines are taken down, breaking rugged lines
in this artist’s state of mind.
This is,
IN MOTION, Poetry and Reality
A beautiful scar… Inked in time.

Mike O’Toole