Spree 8

the spree ate
a sketchbook page
trapped between
an unforgiving kitchen table
and the fury
that only a bleeding Bic
in the hands of
borderline boredom
can bring on

the spree ate
a forty minute fate
trapped reluctant
between a receiver
bleeding babble
into one ear
and thick sick
early morning thoughts
bleeding red hot blues
out the other

the spree ate
it's panicked way
from a single letter
chained to the next
bleeding, blooming out
into random wanton words
and stick men sighing,
jagged stanzas, curses,
smileys, spit, snicker
and over ambitious ornaments

the spree ate
it's therapy pattern
on that cocaine white
whimpering surface
trapped, tattooed, molested
by frustrated frenzy
built on bored banter
babble building the pressure peak

  come on
  you can do it
  hanguphanguphanguphangup...

until it finally bursts
and ball point pressure
penetrates, tears a hole

to relentlessly write
on the table instead

and still that babble
pouring boring
feeding more hunger
to my scribbling spree