Steal a conversation
Steal a feeling
Steal a memory
Bring me the saying of lust
Bring me the feeling of passion
Bring thoughts to cherish
Desperation of affection
Humiliation of isolation
Obligation to love me
Steal my heart
Steal my soul
Steal my body
For yours in return

The cat sits on a mat,
Rather then a hat.
Which belonged to batt
who insisted that he couldn’t stay and chat
As he was trying to buy a flat.

The cat who sat on the mat thought
why I’m I a cat, he said feeling distraught
I’m not interesting at all. All I do is sought
Vengeance on mouse who fought
For a house.
I know longer want to be cat who sits on a mat

To be a poet is the end goal you achieved it
What did I acheive?
You reincarnated me,
not as a animal or a human.
Not even a life form for that matter,
But you put me in a sonnet in a cluster of words.
I’m not religious as such but
my god poets can resurrect.

Feeling in a simple rhythm
The physicality of it is uncanny
Words that I wish would slip past my tongue.
My god poets can resurrect.

What pleasure is must be to bloom so sweetly.
Does the words come quickly?
Once I find my hand,fingers and knuckles.
Pen to paper, finger to lips would it come naturally?
We will see if I can bring air back into lungs deflated by time.
May I stumble to present my work.
Or hold my tongue as they look at the beginning.
My god poets can resurrect.

Must I find sense of place?
Drip a cigarette between my fingers
Papered apartment full of hero’s of song,who now quite as you write the new.
Ability coming naturally you insisted.
Do I not need a Parisan perspective.
Or do I need ordinary to flourish private extraordinary.
My god poets,poets...can