is for:

*private, personal...
never public,
even if public displayed

oft, urgent,
burners on high,
committed
from body to paper
a battlefield commission,
*** boiling over,
passenger driver in the pace car

oft, hazy,
slow cooking stew
multi-flavored, spice twice
splendid blended,
meat for some,
potatoes for others,

always purposed,
sometimes even,
purposeful

pleasure two-folded,
twice arrived,
at birth,
given
mixed with hearty
birthing pains

given again,
when later reread,
stumbled on,
at a later time

you think,
albeit, quietly,
"****, ****,
prideful just enough I am,
claim me a title,
poet in the tradition!"

but the little voice whispers
poet!
poetry pride,
a deadly bromide!

satisfaction best when
the P is just
private, personal,
and the inner ear
smiles when you read your
words to yourself,
words you wrote,
to the cadence of thy heartbeats,
leaving you
smiling inward
and your harshest critic,
your biggest fan,
clap you on the back,
with the same hand

I love cheap money

I love giving it away

cheap money is
that which you give
to the the brave ones....

not much of a poem

cheap
because it is the least expensive
way to justify your own existence
and better someone else's

someday I will write
actually share,
the poem long dusted on the bottom
of the pile entitled,

Just Money

a long tale of how I learned
the value of monetizing
happiness

but let us ask where shelter,
shelter is in the human embrace,
like I said,
not much of a poem,
more a good look
in the mirror

and the shelter of liking
what you see

bed unmade days,
kitchen ****-all-around-roaches
email me thank you notes,
cockaround gratingly grate full

the dry cleaning unwrapped,
the plastic sheets dust covered,
can't recall why it matters at all
any of it

but she,
no
but she,
now-gone

pass by
the bed,
see the sign,
"to let"
on the toilet seat
upright

lie ever inwards onwards
idiots who let little things come
between,
wishing there were
ever still,
noisy
and so very
between