he won't shut up
when he's around
he wants to write everything
keeps on formulating phrases
hallucinating
couches into flying carpets
swearing that he's seen
the ground from the sky
The Poet
we never know what he's doing -
turning black sheep
into heaven
he's stuck on the inside
looking out
The Poet
he won't shut up
but when I really need him
he's no where to be found
when he wants what
he wants
in these poems of his
I know I'll wind up
embarrassed humiliated and forlorn
The Poet
when he's around
he won't shut up
he keeps going on and on
And when he's gone
Silence.