the poem started with the word
the
it wasn't a good
the;
it didn't sit on the page right
like a head with a bad perm
another poem started with the word
the
the the
had so much integrity;
it floated on the page like a sun drenched cathedral
i can only surmise the magic of a poem has in it the ineffable soul
of the writer
are the good writers nonchalant
talent dripping
or are they secretly *******
their the's
******* on
the the's
making them gleam
glowing hard
polishing them with a spit shine
so it sits on the page
with a sense of superiority
some poems are nothing but arm pit stains
no matter how good they are
black listed from love
others
stratospheric
sky-blue uniforms
with bright yellow kerchief's
you cant take your eyes from
they are
the
crowning glory
the
the
in the
the
God of the
the's
peaked like a maraschino
with pastel and golden sprinkles
on a ball
of vanilla
a the
like a high end Mercedes
with the scent of lavender
and the magnitude of the
Botafumeiro
a
the
to **** for
Dec 9, 2018
Dec 9, 2018 at 1:43 PM UTC
the poem started with the word
the
it wasn't a good
the;
it didn't sit on the page right
like a head with a bad perm
another poem started with the word
the
the the
had so much integrity;
it floated on the page like a sun drenched cathedral
i can only surmise the magic of a poem has in it the ineffable soul
of the writer
are the good writers nonchalant
talent dripping
or are they secretly *******
their the's
******* on
the the's
making them gleam
glowing hard
polishing them with a spit shine
so it sits on the page
with a sense of superiority
some poems are nothing but arm pit stains
no matter how good they are
black listed from love
others
stratospheric
sky-blue uniforms
with bright yellow kerchief's
you cant take your eyes from
they are
the
crowning glory
the
the
in the
the
God of the
the's
peaked like a maraschino
with pastel and golden sprinkles
on a ball
of vanilla
a the
like a high end Mercedes
with the scent of lavender
and the magnitude of the
Botafumeiro
a
the
to **** for
