why poetry?

the top of today's to do list:
figuring out why I became a poet.

it was wheeling in my head
while i drove to work this morning.

less wheeling rather sitting still-
and waiting.

stoplights, and a sleeping dog
fall down into the street,


my impatience can only let the stoplights lie.


why this medium, i still wonder-

if i need so badly to unburden my insides-
why such feather-light abandon?

if i am so full of conversations, and stories-
why do i stick everything to fly-papery-metaphor?

maybe my life is made of too many breaks-
and little punctuation
maybe my speaking skills
elude less erudite

maybe my skin empty of decoration
is like the paper i tattoo with words.