Bathtub Gin... 

Its not so much I can’t think of anything to write,

But I can’t seem to write anything I can think of,

Cannot can I get it down on paper,

Nothing does come out; unable am I to see the light,

Afraid if I do put it down it may come out as a fright,

Better am I to remain as unusually lip tight…

Propagating with dissemination,

My skills for explanative conversation,

Are hereupon called by me for termination,

I do so with much, though reserved trepidation,

Do I make any sense with this herein communication…?

Passed over was I for brains,

At least that is what I think when I do take great pains,

To write something of worth, breaking my internal chains,

For what I do say within this short treatise, must you sustain…

Is this after all a treatise or formal exposition?

I think I do come loaded for bear with non-verbal ammunition,

When in reality I do seem to find of myself,

I am no more than a boring politician,

Stating the obvious while trying to refrain from repetitive repetition…

As always I do ask, have I made any sense herein?

Or should I go back to drinking my bathtub gin?

Sitting on the toilet with my cup in my hand,

Playing for all the world to hear  on my one handed violin…

            © ed ~ 3/13/05