wisp of a song
prodding my quintesential expression – an eternity of ruminative eyes
I am Convinced I wrote this
,in some other life, or a little bit of myself is in this poet
Transferred through air waves, heat waves, vibrations in the furniture
So forget about it, we don't need anyone else.
Paper and ink, off the pages and a stain under my eyes
evidence of how I spent the night
with my allies, my cohorts, those who believe in the truth of my provocations,
the righteousness of my solitude
I sleep in a different room. There is no motion from them. I sleep
In a different room.