Singed

Nothing ever comes from second guessing,

or so they say,

perhaps you told me once,

but I never listen.

Given the opportunity,

I'd walk away from good tips

like a buck-eighty,

not smoking in bed---

I like the smell of singed hair

and library books

(I breathe them in and nothing

is released).

I talk when not talked to,

I watch infomercials,

six easy payments of blank pages

on the left-hand side of notebooks,

because I'm wasteful.

I can turn scribbles to scripture

for the January beats.

I know peace as more than a

hand gesture.

I sleep well at night

and it is this that keeps

you awake.