Still Singing for Iams
Maybe, probably, we'll get sick in the fountain in my frontyard. Because my father put it there to take the place of a dying plant, or animal, or we avoid ourselves unless we're fixing our hair. Or our makeup. Pause. Break. Down.
Jotting lines like a typewriter with a typewriter of magic, bought (15 dollars) stealing halos from angels. Still sick in the fountain, we wished upon the milky way. I thought it was a cloud. Quickly corrected of course. You're not the smartest.
So we'll quit our jobs to moved onto other jobs. More money. Stability for instability. Pause. Break. Down.
A beautiful person once told me to forget about sentences, sentax. I could be a poet if I concentrated or amended these jagged prongs of words. Unfortunate for me, for most, the only poem I wrote I kept for myself. Funny how sentences jump just like stanzas.
I guess I've traded iambic pentameter for something less expected.
Once I wanted to be the greatest.
Jotting lines like a typewriter with a typewriter of magic, bought (15 dollars) stealing halos from angels. Still sick in the fountain, we wished upon the milky way. I thought it was a cloud. Quickly corrected of course. You're not the smartest.
So we'll quit our jobs to moved onto other jobs. More money. Stability for instability. Pause. Break. Down.
A beautiful person once told me to forget about sentences, sentax. I could be a poet if I concentrated or amended these jagged prongs of words. Unfortunate for me, for most, the only poem I wrote I kept for myself. Funny how sentences jump just like stanzas.
I guess I've traded iambic pentameter for something less expected.
Once I wanted to be the greatest.