There are more poets
than anyone knows
what to do with.
In the night we
stare hollow eyed
at the unmarked
face of forever,
and scratch and
scratch to make
a mark that says,
I am, I want, I was.
Missing the point
completely.
[]
There are more poets
than anyone knows
what to do with.
In the night we
stare hollow eyed
at the unmarked
face of forever,
and scratch and
scratch to make
a mark that says,
I am, I want, I was.
Missing the point
completely.