A Paper Chain Poem by Michael Witkowski

This wordy chain i shall give you
A rope around your neck- it
twists your self but you will
not cringe or bother

Tree salad flattened
Milk white. pure as
Nothing- as nothing in
this world is pure. On
this flattened tree salad
i pour my chain of drools,
Doodles between two lines
See if those hooks fit
the space in-between

Or this be my vision as my
deeeds do not match my wish
here i stand, facing the group
no scribbled whiteness to
defend my case, a let
down on the whole line

the group and i clashed
and we exchanged niceties
impomptu heartfelt wishes
i uttered to the parting ones
no embrace i did get but
it would not be true and
appropiate

murky awkward business
done away with ordinarily
what can we pack those
in their bagpacks, to whom
we do not relate best.
Usual sun, light house,
watch and an umbrella
These never fail