As I sit down once more at the big system

I am blinded by a fireball in the sky some

Preventing me from seeing print onscreen

My mind tightens and I feel I want to scream



So much runs around in my head and spills

- Out over the brim as my parts ache to fill

The holes in your mind, body, head and ears

My love for you is pouring out under my fears



And I try to stem the tide with words in lines

Which do fill the void in my life over the time

We're apart due to your many various excuses

Some I accept - others do pull tightly as screws



Which lose heads or threads as they break in holes

And the frustration this causes makes me grow old

As I hold onto the screwdriver with both of my hands

Trying hard to push into hole with sweat from my glands



A so much easier task it is to accomplish quite smoothly

When you are the object of my effort as you arouse me

And threads and heads hold together with screw nicely

As lubricants you use to draw me into the hole rightly



And once this happens - my screw goes in easily to hilt

As I give my driver one last twist to tighten without tilt

And then the warmth of the hole flares up my limbs

As the driver I use hardens once more, then goes limp



And I drop it to the floor under me and unclasp my box

Throwing my tool back in - so I can find it for next toss

Of the work which requires the efforts of a good driver

Which'll be in a very short time whenever you're nearer



Christopher W. Thomas

4:10pm November 19th, 1997