A cheap whiskey for mixing
Rinses the mind out after
Rubbing all ten digits raw
Ev'ry finger tip pulsing
Against an inclined keyboard
Keys shadow'd by a darkness
But new channels have been hew'd
Flowing liquid won't settle
Above the eyes as it should
Won't submerge all kindly in
The night's consuming shadows
Rounded keys too visible
Pours forth an endless flow forth
Pulse perhaps quickening now
So ribs say but they're erring
In judgment for too distanced
From the heart of the matter
A wetted throat knows better
Flow, flow, slow punching fingers
Rise rather than pouring forth
Settling gently behind eyes
Pressing pressing down into
Shadows floating around dark
Through a mind re-resisting
Closing off channels although
Seems that joints sinews fingers
Stiff slow and the words won't come
Swiftly as a pouring hand
Topping off an empty glass
Beckoning so beckoning
Tasteless like water cheap
As lapping from tap fingers
Slowly unclench
Falling bottle cap or upward
Clink shoulders weary
is it... stopping?
Too long now to
Think of words
Clicking
Slowing
Flow
And...
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Wow loved the flow in your words. So perfectly mastered. The thoughts behind a glass of wiskey. Simply enjoyed reading this poem. Keep blogging Friend ๐๐ธ
Thanks so much ๐
The pleasure is all mine
A cheap whiskey for mixing
Rinses the mind out after
โ- I like this flow of consciousness, Ben.
Thanks ๐