Left Over

This is a left Over Poem from Christmas Eve.

When the Music Fades

Here is one right off the cuff
Just like the cuff of the shirt
That I have, that's tattered a bit
And overly worn.
So this too is entirely overly told and
Tattered a bit from the close knit
Stitch that would make it be
Perfect and precise and understandable.
Instead this is the state of an uncertain tone.

The girl I saw today
No a woman I suppose
Reacted so oddly. Now as ever I'm sold
On the thought that she plays
Far- far too many games. The thought that
Places her among the authoritative.
The professionals who play
With everyone who will engage;
The professionals who I do hate to join.

And this makes it in need
Of another real professional.
A seamstress that is,
If they do still exist.
Why the last time we met
I'm sure she disrobed
And if I hadn't probed
We might have met
With an untimely spawn,
From me and from her from both of us made
But for that type of stitching I didn't have thread.

Right now I know this
If only it's true.
A seamstress is more important
More necessary in a world of
Professional players than any
Profession, then any personified
Pissed off pubescent boy who
Has all the age qualifications of a man.
So keep your shirt on whether it's tattered or torn
Just as long as you have something
That you can say you have worn.


Today I used a 14 gauge beveled needle.
Heath Achatz 12.24.2004