The Feeling Is Poetry
The Feeling Is Poetry
Winter coming on and the streets wet with rain,
thoughts of
what if I am failing
this game of life?
wondering around the downstairs kitchen
looking for the ice cream
I delight in the idea that my words
live beyond me
and the feeling is truly
poetry
thoughts of what will I do
in the morning
after the rain is gone
and the afternoons empty,
without money, without work,
there is the meager sentiment of reality
closing me in, blurring my distinctions
torn into the emptiness, crawling through it
like a baby on the floor
making my way
towards the living room door
I resigned myself to defeat
and remained calm
although
nothing remained but the words.
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