Of Note: An Ode To The Practicing Poet

Just wrote a poem and deleted it
Next song.

Okay, now I Breathe
And so….

But the song is sad.

Only I listen, because I am in love,
And so I breathe.

And next;

Yes. I breathe

Only, I wish life didnt trivialize and parody itself,
Because I need this:

Lily Allen, Something’s Not Right –
Pan 2015,

Now Odezsa, Kusanagi

Feels as rich as umami

pause.

It. has. been a. tough. week.

Smoke, and – pause. . .

My nightstand is mine,
Replete with blue bandana, overflowing with books
I’d brag –
But you wouldnt know them anyway:
My tastes in books as alienating as my tastes in persons,
Or so the bourgeous prole in me said
But now I must put him to bed
So the poet in me may sleep,
That the man again may have a life of peace
For there are beasts – wolves too,
To whom we are sheep,
But we may rest now

For the beasts too need sleep.

And a famous persons name may now be added here to lend credibility,

Oh, but I think you not the credulity –

To believe me of such insecurity,

As if my poem werent good enough for me
That I wouldnt publish it. 

Were I undedicated, I wouldnt be so hated.
Chasing wildest dreams like he’s gonna make it
Heaven knows how long my talent felt wasted.

But I want to feel talent –
To have tasted it –
Written, rewritten, and written it again

Oh give me my sweet sin again,
That I wont waste it:

Deleting poems
Erasing omens and odes

Worse crimes fitting a criminal,
I say

Because today,
You wrote more than code 

And that is of note.

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