cracked

a shell is worth cracking
a telephone is ringing and rewinding
the yolk it fell to the bowels of the earth
my spirit is kept in a jar

my car has an ominous noise
at superspeed, it can sucedde
from the driftwood road
and love is soaked up in a sponge
but I rinse it off with soap
that does impede my vision
falling quietly asleep to the rhythm
of OCD. and always idea-driven

a cloth can clean up all the dirt
in graveyards, a silent stain can be heard
I dug up the words and put them to rest
a shell is worth cracking
and according to pams encyclopedia
once open and observed
worry is a fleeting thing
playing along with the strings of my nerves