How Many Deaths Must a Poet Die
It’s just not there…y’know
The will to write….
To sit --- alone
Entrenched
In mindless mindfulness
Meandering
Through the melancholy
Of worn out words.
The keyboard taunts
“I dare ya!!!”
G’wan, what are ya,
Chicken?
Do it,,,,,
Leap for the hanging rope
Dive in the shallow end
Walk on the hot stones
….screaming all the way.
They’re just not there
The worn out words
The meandering melancholy
of mindless mindfulness.
How many deaths
Must a poet…..die???
John G. Lawless
©4/26/2022
Copyright © John Lawless | Year Posted 2022
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