Plains

When I sit, paper before me,
Thoughts within 
Concentrating on my hand's pen -

My perturbations sink
To one placid level - the devil 
Takes his ease and stretches

To a pleasing surface that lasts ...
Flat, unruffled, unscratched
Miles-wide dormancy and pale air ...

Until, study done, I resume
Life's resurging, its conflicting
Crescendo of growth and bloated

Eating that gnaws at my
Insides where strife is
Digested, and settles, where

All is trouble, all is stormy
Waters never still - I am
Commanded by his devil

Throwing stones at me -
Forcing me to grow through
Exigency: all pitchfork 

Pain and squeal -  
I am too constrained too
Contaminated with the real.

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