i wrote this schmaltzy little ditty as a follow -on to someone's stream of consciousness dealing with a "bellyache" in Utne:
it may be a bellyache,
you will get for heaven's sake,
for every sin you quietly take,
for every hard peace that you make,
for any love that you don't fake,
even if it makes your heart break
forgiving wrongs that make you quake
if you give of your own heart
of your life you'll make art
keep your horse before your cart
care of soul is your own part
share with others and thats a start
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sing song rhymy thing plucking pluck pluck cute cute smiley smile like beach
boys like ice cream cones like saddle shoes and bow ties
as on down the line comes the hard truth the pavement hard into your nose
as you fall it coming up with unbelievable
speed to split your day between light and
dark and the siren announces the beginning of act
two a struggle a new start unforeseen that's the way to
view it as it pounds on your chest, drags you under holds
you tight by the hair, tearing at your roots sing song rhymy
thing now laughable by its innocent meanders now pathetic in
its naive stance flowing out across the blistering pavement and boiling away
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