i was lying on the grass, high off my ***
thinking bout the past, if this life will last
and all that jazz, wondering if i'm going too fast
still trying to figure it out, what my life's all about
the quarter life crisis, i might not be at my nicest
all my friends drive a hybrid but their lives looking vapid
i'm not one to talk, i'm jack with no beanstalk
no golden goose to lay me some eggs
while everyone else says break a leg
i never broke any eggs so i can't make an omelette
but i'm on it i promise. then i ran out of the office
can't deal with expectations, cause i'm still hesitating
so afraid of failure that i keep on failing
it's a ******* paradox. now where did i put my pair of socks?

A poem by Billy Collins always seems to have a twist, some humor or a pun waiting to make you chuckle or stop and wonder while holding your chin.

But now, I’m not surprised by his slights of poetic hand. He has tipped his hat one too many times.
Too many winks.
One can only enjoy a twist so many times.

What would really surprise me is not a poem about jazz that is really a poem about death, or some stanza about a Bird in the winter snow (but really about a distant mother or an Ornette Coleman song or a high school sweetheart)...

What would really stop me in my tracks is

A few simple words
A haiku or prose, a
Moment for its own sake.

I'm not one for Valentine's Day.
Love wrapped up and packaged into superficial nothingness
The meaning, the weight and beauty of love, made less,
stripped away and replaced with balloons and chocolates.
No
If you love someone you tell them
every
day.
Tell them with the way you look at them,
with the way you touch them,
buy her flowers because its Tuesday
dress up for him because you wanna take his breath away
all
over
again
falling in love is a whirlwind of involuntary passion
staying in love is an action
showing love is a responsibility, a choice
don't dull the song of love's voice because it shouldn't be loudest but one day a year
No
interlock your fingers and breathe each other in
not for a holiday, do it for the grin, that blooms on her face more lovely than any roses in a vase OH dear
No.
Love is not just once a year.

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
What would i do
If i loved me too?