8-1-17

I sit and think
I want to write a poem
but I’m not a poet for occasions
so I have to wait
like a lonely man waits
for the moment he gets
a carton
and what is filled
is some soft place
inside him
that’s what poems
do to me

they fill me

 

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This entry was posted in 2017, garden, literature, poem, poems, poetry, writing and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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