Michael Witkowski - Unsaved

Unsaved fingers
Are remembered in tiny streaks
In bad patches
Gleam on through where no layer presses itself upon
Words have been flowing from my tips to the keys
And entered the void - Oblivion cast its gargoyles
On my Wounds- To speak damnation would be heresy
But i chrurn up spite against damnation and toss it at
Gargoyles whatever shade or path they came from
They own many eyes, slimy toes, harrwing seeds they
Spray on human face. Heads they own not but rent
Computer chips for spouts- Thus they spare me a life
Of fame and ignominy to ignominy
I am not a new Don Quijote- am not boozed up on
Romantic fantasies- face that odious wretch which
wenches with my dignity and ignoble soul

Michael Witkowski

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/unsaved-3/