Poetry these days IIIIt's just thatI drink in lifelike too many cups of coffeeMy bladder is filled with the world,and I can't stop sipping
Poetry these days III mean,it's almost like going to the bathroom,I used to have to try,but now it's just a natural bodily function.When I feel the pressure of poetry,I make my way to a notebookinstead of a urinaland grab a peninstead of my zipper,and just let go.I hardly have to aimas I piss out poetry.
Poetry these daysPoetry gets refined somewhere in my head,and then comes out when it gets the chance.I feel kind of uninvolved in the process these days,but I don't mind.I guess it's how a tree feels,when Autumn comes and all the leaves get pretty and fall to its feet,and then Spring comes and flowers bloom its arms.It just kind of happens, and there's not much controlling it.But it's pleasant, so why complain?Yeah, that's pretty much how I feel about poetry these days.I guess I prefer it to being an evergreen.
She thinksShe thinksshe's not beautiful,and soshe'll never love her bodylike I could.Maybe someone elsewill do it for her,but probably not.What a shame.
Baby youBaby! youare like highway 17Your curves couldkill me,and the way youturn mealmost pushes me over the edge every time.Baby! youare that gorgeous deathtrapbetween where I amand where I gotta be.
ShameBefore I enter my car,the world is real in a way that can't be captured:purple orange wisps of evening clouds,and bare branches reaching up towards them;I never before noticed how that street sign was bent.I have places to..., things to...and I hope the world will be there when I get back.