I like to write poems
Words are kind to me
In an ocean of lyrical ephemera
As far from reality as I can be
I close my eyes and see the rhythm
Pass my tongue over the air
With my sharp teeth I bite
And hold on to the poetic flair
So I don't care how crooked my teeth
Or items on the dentist's bill
As long as I hear the music
He can use his noisy drill
It's the night that brings out
The hidden sonnets from my heart
Sometimes the badly digested food
And the offal in the fart
And like the personality of fart
My fart, that I hold so dear
My poetry may not find the ears
At least my obscurity is clear
Here in this unmarked grave
Of blogs no one ever reads
These will be my memories
These will be my deeds
The words may not mean
Anything to your ears
Nonetheless for me they do
An escape from my fears
An escape from the dull mediocrity
Away from the drudgery of same
I live in places and palaces
I get to play my own games
Lesser mortal worth nought
Mortgages on my years
In my mind I step out of orbit
Without my peeves and fears
But be that as it may
I'm grasping at the straws
My mind has melted in disarray
I clearly see the flaws
