Catching The Drift (Poetry)

Words are all the body’s left
the gristle and the bone
letters scrawl upon my skull
describe the shape and tone

Sentences inscribe themselves
carve poems on the skin
and stories twist and knot my hair
until the plot falls thin

There’s question marks between my toes
insisting they be heard
despite the typeset way my head
checks feelings word for word

While blood and sweat and tears undo
the plans for sleep I had
as all night long I scribble down
the thoughts that drive me mad

Insane ideas — bizarre they sit
and smirk the small hours through
I catch and nail them to the page
there’s nothing else to do

but so arrange them cheek by jowl
and catalogue their crimes
in hope by dawn some sense will come —
throw light upon these lines ...