This egress
Of progress
Is no less
Marred with cards
Of jacks and kings
Numerous trades
Wondrous things
It brings
A pace
To the race
Of poetry...
Hoping we
Don't burn out
Turn out
With our heads
In the block
Where we stop
And stare
And battle
Our thoughts.
Where the page
Just coughs
And laughs
And points
'Til we figure out
How to ink out
Our joints
For the masses
No passes
No getting in free
You must
Come as you are
Be who you be
You may
Hurt for your art
But that is the part
Where the pain
Starts to go
Your mind
Starts to know
There's no need
For pills
The thrill
Fills the bill
As your shrink
And you sink
Farther
And Harder
Until you carry
No weight
Now all that's left
Is the title
And the date.
No comments:
Post a Comment