I am Jane Goodall's Tanzanian monkeys typing about bananas.
My fingers are Santa's little helpers.
My hope is a sporadic rainfall - yet a torrential downpour in all creative environments.
I am Theseus, unspooling golden yarn.
Sisyphus, sweating uphill.
Bukowski,
scribbling away
in rooming houses.
A river always flowing.
I am the nightmare of stagnancy and a God of Imagination.
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
Burger Time...
Bad poetry is bad poetry but bad poetry can sometimes become good poetry if it's not bad
pertinent to all things my dear
ReplyDeletei think
you just opened
the lid
of
the world
oh shit wait that didn't rhyme at all
ReplyDeleteit did in me head
ReplyDelete