Air aided in gravel’s travel
Its ricocheting rhythm
Rhythming like the crunch
Of an ocean
The steps of someone
The left and right side
Sway as incongruent tides
Whatever winds wind up
Within an earshot, it becomes
Tapped in our orbit
Wonders of the world all around
Wondering what it will be like
To be a cherished kind of sound
Actually,
as a matter of fact.
I am not a poet.
I promise you that.
So then you ask, why are you here,
Where rhyming and rhythming people are near?
And then I will answer, to your nosing mouth.
That poetry's art, that's what I'm about.
I like craftily putting big words together,
and making bad emotions seem better.
Enjoyment is mine, when I see I have written,
something where my ambition is hidden.
Well crap, I really just wanted to say that.
I'm gonna go buff my cat.
And burn my hat.
And hit my shiny cat into my flaming hat...with a bat.
I bet that cat is fat.
He did bad things with rats.
I hid his ashes under the mat.
Then I pulled down my pants and shat....on the mat...on my shiny cat in the
flaming hat.