The Poet
THE POET
Reinvents the world all clean and neat
Passing it on from village to village on electric feet
Armed with pen, peanut butter and a few sheets
He listens for sounds others don’t hear
Turning self inside out backwards in the mirror
Shouting out the roof of his room hot tears
The poet, faithful to his muse soul alert
Floats o’er mountains, forests through dust of plain and desert
Hatching rhyme from paradise to Mother Earth
One of the world’s most solitary really alive in mind alone
Like a word-archaeologist digging for a bone
He scoffs at social zenith calls fancy his true home
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