Today a cookie cutter crossed my path and I had to laugh
Cause the tollhouse in the atmosphere was nowhere near
Enough for it to be that tough as it strolled by and the gleam of the sunbeam
On its blade caught the shade in my eye and lit it like the pie
That caught fire in the forgotten oven of the coven
That I was shoving all my ill placed rhymes into
So I bent and looked for the glint of a fallen dime
That was left behind by the beggar looking for change and its strange
That while I looked I thought of the book that I never wrote but hope
Is still within me waiting to break free someday and pen me
Into a new world where cookie cutters aren’t so threatening
Pushing upon my soft places within spaces that are half formed and yet fully worn
So the scorn that they pass to my glass as they pray and they say
From their knees to the ghost of Swiss cheese how a man such as me could never please
The spark that they have never felt and the flowers they never smelt
And yet to hear them tell it and yell it they got it all figured out and the doubt
Is mine alone to hang so I bang with the wall and the ball on my shoulder
And crush out the static and run into my attic to play with the toys that destroys
The need to give a **** about the buck and the place of the crown and the face
From the place where we waste all of our lives trying to live and yet give
The very mold the cold back side of a ride that we loath and yet create
So our fate is to hate every buttered piece of bread that’s alive or dead
That doesn’t match what’s in our head and recognized as the prize
And we paralyze the meaning of any direction taken and are quickly mistaken
And led astray into fair tales of dismay cause it never turns out that way
So I stood and looked down the street at the feet with no heads and with tails
Hanging from the necks in the front on the hunt for another brother
To take their cookie cutter and devour and I found it hard to hide the scowl across my back
So they could see it from where they talk and as I began to walk to the beat
Of my own drum the hum from the concrete beneath began to bequeath
Mysteries of its own into the microphone of an open dome
And my vision became clear and I found what they lost near
And the dove sang in my ear and suddenly I began to float
So I dropped everything and ran home and then wrote
The entire experience down so the clown from down town
Would forever be encapsulated in the very love he hated
And translated into something he could never understand
Even if it was written by his own hand and I planned the rest of my day To bake and take milk and the guilt and eat it with
The cookies so the rookies on the field that should be benched
Could quench their stupidity with a dose of ingenuity
And hula hooped with the ghost around my waist
Then began to taste the sweetest flavor of what rhymes with the taste
And the cutting wheels rusted before my very eyes as I drank
What they despised and my cries where etched into clouds
As the new rains came down and the rest of the town drown
In the batter at the bottom of the bowl.

Bravo

Thank you

great write michael...

TY MzEm....