My Poetic Mind

Is like a time bomb of words waiting to explode...driven up the road to a new way of thinking....blinking rhythms with words...bringing myself to mind shrinking antics linking...my poetic mind to an attic like an addict but of words...I’m thinking.... My poetic mind will never find it so hard to jot down words that I see...deep within my travesty...locking them in so no one could steal my words from me...this is just me being me...see never do I wanna be just another wanna be...that is someone I would never see...living...I have forgiven the unforgiven...given that driven time bomb of words to this wake up able dream of a crystal river stream forming a team with the sky...’cause forever I wanna be my poetic mind type of guy....believe this....I envision my word balled into fists...punching me in the face page by page...tumbling and stumbling into a written mystical lyrical rage...starting through my veins beginning at my wrists....I have this think big book that I dare to keep a list...so I’m never forgetting...only now I’m letting my pen do the meddling... I’m tethering my teeter tatter chit chatter mixed with my beated in street batter of my matter...cause I really don’t matter...never did never will....wait for my next ink spill... -Peter T. DeSpirito