The Mind's Travel Poem by Shaun McGurgan

I waste those wiles
and endless long weekends
on silly dreams of youth
and counterlevered smiles.
As several floating whispers
pass me
gently
by.
Once a source of inspiration
now an endless stroll
through muddy banks
and knotted roads
filled with tiny holes.

(those holes they become ridges
which burden small places in my heart
and tell of the small aches
that I put there myself)

(that scratch the shiny surfaces on my heart
which I take such great care polishing
lest someone see within)

(which scratch and my poc-mark my feet
and make them lumpy.
Like my poc-marked soul.)