locked in hole
peeking out, peek poke
peel back feel out smoke
drifting in wafting through
around you in the hole
peeking out around through
seek out down under around you
envelops your soul
cradles you like mother
and you feel safe, protected
by its volume and viscosity
shielded from obscenity
nudged closer to insanity
every single day you go without one

short poems indicative of lack of style
fueled by an endless hunt for guile
a cunning linguist ends his poems right
if not correctly

i know not how to end, nor when
nor why i write in the first place
only that it purges, cleanses my soul
turning my hole into a vacuum
leaving me wanting more
and i have to start all over again
or fear i'll lose something horrid
i'm not sure i had in the first place

all i know is nothing at all
i feel insignificant, small
in this world among giants
i have not the requisite gall
so i'll sit back and bawl
nothing rhymes with giants, dammit
so why bother rhyming at all?