To heal,
Journal they say
Like a worm in the dirt
Of my front lawn
Sliding, pushing through
Air pockets
Arduous, unending crawl
No words come
To mind
Where can I breathe

To heal,
Journal they say
Words don't come easy
They fly up like
Torn pages of a book
Riffed, stolen letters of some name
In the nameless wind
Grasping what isn't there,
A cynical continuing void

To heal,
Journal they say
My hands become deaf and blind
The pages curl and mold
Pen and paper inventing before I have begun
All I have is the deep
The deepest inside
That comes here
Traversing incredulity, while I
cry

To heal, they say

I knew a worm who lost his way, boring and digging the earthen clay
He knew all along he could go where he chose, but lost his direction is what we suppose

Today, of course, was raining quite hard, he had to surface and let down his guard
He made the mistake of crawling too far and the end result is a bit bizarre

He ended up on the end of a hook, wet as hell as bait in the brook
It wasn't long before a fish can along and checked out the worm and sang him this song

Where oh where did you come from little worm
Are you lost and forgotten, and please, please don't squirm
You look very delightful I have to admit
I bet you are tasty, I think that's legit
If I eat you I fear, I may be unhappy
I have no control so let's make it snappy

You know the rest of the story....  

Brian Hill - 2019 # 259