I Write the Way I Write

I write most and best, with wind blowing in me, wine in the glass, but no toxic and no expectations... Simple and complex, so comes walks up writing... Without honors and flatteries, chasing a target distant... My poor poetry it is without fuss and without subterfuges... climb up slopes and ramps, and sometimes it thrills the blind and deaf... Poetry that hits hard cheers me up and warms me up when I feel half dead... So hot it is, until the the cold warms.... and if no audience appears it is not scared and there is no cease... While writing, cars on the street honk, mosquitoes suck my blood and phrases... and in the silence of the room hundreds of ghosts applaud...