a poet with a disorganized brain
Ideas crack corn by the minute
from a tap that will not shut off
loves the idea of treasure hunting
anything that comes to mind
he holds the golden pen
watching his words
burn deep inside the page
nothing compares to
the indescribable birth of invention
no time or space for anything else
a kaleidoscope
bits of lined paper
broken rhythm
half sentences of
dismantled rhyme
ticker tape and confetti
always whirling or
sleeping sideways on the floor
still homeless metaphors
keep pounding on his door
try getting torn pieces
to fit together
overwhelmed
in the pitch black of the night
boxes of sacrificed ink on paper
why bother to write
