My signature style
is just to blab.
To let it all hang out
like excess flab.
Why must I tell you people
every little thing?--
Sentiment too lengthy for page,
words too choppy to sing.
I would hate to think
some see me as a fraud
who does things without thinking
that they could not, or,
should not applaud.
But even with a gallery of images in mind
the words that come out are too honest, I find.
(and they are ugly,
they are so ugly)
No covering up with watercolors today,
Every talent here has been washed away.
Only with my signature you are left
the loopy, whirly, twisty, bereft.
Tickle your toes. . .
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Recently I have been really attempting to delve into what it means to be a poet. Jim Morrison once wanted to be a poet, and look where it go...
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RICK: Hey Rick? DICK: Yea, Dick? RICK: See that sky roll on by? (points) DICK: ...Oh, my... RICK: Don't i-t'almost makes yer wanner.... -
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strange tree, your flowers look like badminton birdies.
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two squinting painted eyes looking solemn on a leathery face. this knight of the golden age has a 20 gallon bucket of a hat atop his slicked... -
The one day that I am home sick is the one day that everyone goes on a balloon ride. Just my luck. You know, it's funny how they always ... -
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Though it hasn't been months since I have written and attempted edits within my memoir, it has been quite some time since I have reflect...
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sex object. not afraid of the words. I've used many objects for the sake of sex. in fact my body has been pretty disposable- I don't...
Poets United Contributor
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