research on the logging business
you do it for me
my dearest Mary Jane
you make me feel insane,
and I can't afford
that kind of distraction;
it always rubs me the right way.
And speaking of rubbing
who decided that rubbing sounded dirty
when my mind ran away with the word
like a puppy with a bone
on a summer's day overwhelmed with joy
the sun caresses a face
long subdued by shades of gray
submissive to the lines that follow
persistent will, not to stay.
Spare me the motivational speech
because sooner or later my inspiration will deflate and
the "what the hell" effect will kick in
and my heavenly essence will kick out
windows of an effervescent soul.
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