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.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
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Tickle your toes. . .
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So... you're thinking of getting a poem tattoo?
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