I believe myself

[stilltrucking]

it amazes me
the lies I can tell
to myself

soft breeze scurries leaves
melancholy evening
train horn blows solace

three twenty one 2009
don't believe me?
check this out

Deleted from Creative Board today

at 945AM

Waiting for the poets of studio eight to wade on in on this one,
meanwhile fools rush in.

I am
absolutely blissful in my ignorance
of what poetry is.

Perhaps a poem is a child that you set out in the world to meet its fate. To change lives, to unfreeze hearts. To wake the living dead.

That's all it is to me. Nothing but poetry.
Just this thing
nothing really

sincerely
just a fan
another one of your "faceless readers"

and when he dies, the poet's last request
just to see his children grateful to have been born.

spontaneous
913am3/21/09

Glad I don't have to read this gibberish
I just write it.

The taxi's waiting
the meter is running
hammer hammer