#3minutepoems
The writers
The writers
Hold aloft their lighters
And worship styles of Kafka, Robbins, Steinbeck, and of Stoppard,
With syrup and with sawdust – a spicing so improper,
They burn the midnight oil as they’re pulling their all-nighters
Running hard on empty as they find their inner fighters
The writers, the writers, the writers
Jun 14, 2016
Jun 14, 2016 at 4:56 PM UTC