people who write poetry, without reading enough books annoy me... no, wait, they: pulverise me into activity... i'm instantly gravitating towards them... they're the sort of people who only read a recipe for a dish, by only adding salt, without adding all the other, 3+ remaining ingredients; well, isn't that true, as the english say it: you have to be cruel... to be kind.

he's got a motorcycle,
and a draft of the 20th century's
worth of masculine mistakes...
me?
  i have an hour's worth
of attention span,
   a poem that will never rhyme,
and a glass full of whiskey...
and having read
zen and the art of
motorcycle maintenance...
then again i also have a book
in my head that no one has written
and no one has read... namely?
tao, and the art of
owning a pair of feet,
rather than a wheelchair...
wheelchair bit is crude, i admit...
so?
   *tao and the art of pedicure;
well... that's ******, either way;
the book?
   it's a hard read,
given that there was a suicide in
the family,
and it's mentioned in
later editions (zen).