these sketches in verse wondering, bored, or terse, they're just impressions of a moment portraits in the sand forgotten in an hour not that long pre-planned just impressions of a moment
in the self-conscious place competing concepts oil-deep self-doubt tired of poetry tired of life : "the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to" my verse receiving praise
the stray cat that wanders the apartment complex, I let it in, fed it some tuna fish It's a sweet cat, a good companion but without a home and it hasn't found one I've neither the money
everybody wants to hear something good, hey it's understood but that's not where I'm at and I'm tired of masquerade, tired of making sour lemonade I don't wanna hear
The pulse of life the divine blood running in cold mountain rivers resting in alley-way mud Meroite warriors on the battle-field slaying and being slain fierce as lions millenia before guns
