"inquires" poems
she inquires why I write so many poems,
easy comes reply:
It gives me a fantastic living,
it makes and gives, each poem,
a calculation, a reconciliation
of who I am...a miner of the
mineral wealth in my veins
Jul 26, 2020
Jul 26, 2020 at 3:59 PM UTC
Horrid and morbid, bitter, glittered and littered memories! Automotives, adaptive captives, movies, motives, Natives, locomotives, obsessive and possessive. Some awesome, brilliant, different, ignorant, persistent and resilient. ****** and exotic! Some memories are eccentric, fantastic, futuristic, magic, logistic, optimistic,
plastic, realistic, tragic or sadistic. Some random sizes with hidden prizes! Blameful, gainful, lameful and painful. Dreary destinies, diaries, inquires, weary rivalries, stories and theories in memory.
In theory, memories made from cheers and fears, jeers and tears!
Of amends, amens, omens, gems, hymns and stems. Memories
abbreviated and dedicated, deviated and medicated! Memories cased,
edited and erased. Evangelically, eventually everyone inherits! They’re like tiny merits! They spike the psych. They strike and are unlike. Memories of bites, defects, dislikes, effects, fights, flights, insects, logics, neglects, objects, plight, projects, protests, recollects, reflects
rejects, respects and suspects. Memories of fate and hate! Some are not great. Memories of schemes, screams or themes of dreams that seem. Memories of small, memories of tall! Memories in despise, memories
of lies. Memories of wise; beyond the skies, as I close my eyes…
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 9:40 PM UTC
Forest inquires:
How do you decide, choose your design, find its guise,
give it a face, surrender to the poem's own
vanity,
and choose the poem's alignment?
an answer forms:
this alignment idea,
you think it simple,
everybody understands
what your inquiry means
alignment - the appropriate relative position
we live in relative position to each other, our poems too, for they are but written synapses of our close captioned interactions, seemingly random, but assuredly not, as we invest in ourselves, seeking the mysterious appropriate answer
from the Theory of Poetic Relativity
i love your question; hold it to my nostrils,
smell the coffee aroma wake up blast inherent;
kiss its robust childlike cheeks for the simple soulfulness essential arousal;
for you see sir you have found
the appropriate position that relates us, our mindful words;
answer no good, wholly insufficient?
perfect.
as i close this quick cooked to perfection laboratory solution, take note
the earth has moved
our hearts have beaten a measly thousand times
time and space have appropriated our prior
relativity
when you return years hence this poem's shape will perforce have moved. for words are weathered flux constant and yet inherently unchanged except for the part of us that changes with every re-reading
and what was
right before has left and the center has moved again
Mar 12, 2017
Mar 12, 2017 at 9:25 AM UTC
Late night dedications from you to me.
Writing you letters to see if you are holding it down for me.
Collect calls from me to you and some steamy conversation...
when your family inquires about my whereabouts....you say I'm on vacation.
Your image in my head is what makes each day easier to bare.
I'm writing and doing this time instead of stressing and pulling out my hair.
It's been said that you do the time and don't let the time do you.
I don't want to see the white jackets and be 302'd.
Listening to the radio as the love songs play.....
Daydreaming as I glance at the pictures of us together on Unity day.
The reason I love you is not hard to see or maybe it's just me.
My emotions run wild whenever you're next to me.
Expressing to you my visions and dreams while I'm incarcerated.
Promises that when I get out ....our lives won't be complicated.
My thoughts become hot air balloons and the English language becomes foreign.
A refugee in my own land except my name's not Lauryn.
Wishing I could hold you and fall into a deep sleep.
Time would stand still and nightmares would never creep.
Our love is like a mountain that has no peaks.
I'm missing you like crazy as I'm counting down the weeks.
I'm holding you hostage. You're a prisoner without the cuffs.
You're saving yourself for me, but it's evident I'll never be worthy enough even if I was free.
The money was my idol and it came so fast.....
Partying my life away and having a blast.
I never thought about how long the money and fun would last.
My rise and fall like a pool that's been deflated.
My capture and imprisonment greatly exaggerated and celebrated.
The families that I've hurt......by them I'm hated.
I've destroyed my neighborhood. That's what many have stated.
All this is true .....so I'm setting you free.
Consider this the last correspondence you'll ever receive from me.
Please accept this heartfelt apology. My love I am so....so sorry.
My love has revolved around you. My every waking thought has been about you.
Now you are telling me that you're setting me free.....
Whoa! wait a minute......How could this be?
Since we were little kids it's been me and you.
You were the paper and I was the glue.
My people said that you were not good enough for me, but I was still stuck on you.
This really hurts my heart as I read the words you've penned.
I realized not so long ago that this relationship must come to an end.
The transition will be difficult and it will take time for my heart to mend.
As I listen to the lockdown love dedications again and again.....
I'll have vivid memories of how this relationship began it end.
4ever in my heart
Lockdown Love
Oct 7, 2012
Oct 7, 2012 at 4:36 PM UTC
The dermatologist demands a pre-summer scan of my visual delights fully magnified.
Peering into places where no one else has ever peered, even me, reminds me that this is a potentially "disruptive" process.
Eye don't know what his eyes have seen.
He works in silence pin punctuated by the occasional mmmm or throat clearing rumble.
Snappy removal of neutrally colored gloves signify conclusion, he opines as follows:
"Were you aware," he inquires, "that the lines, the furrows on a your forehead correspond to the life your have lead?"
"You have three, deep deep tracks, and that's a fact."
Yes, eye know,
and each one is a tree ring notation
of my existence.
Each a different year,
each a different moment fearful,
a death and a birth,
a passing, a regaining.
No, not children or parents,
illusions.
Markers of our lives are the
birth and death of our illusionary,
our revelation minutes, that measure and scribe
what dug those furrows is now officially,
no more.
Until we start anew,
a different Pretense,
a channel commenced to commemorate.
Living the dream, they say,
aren't we all, eye think, and so inform him.
The doctor did not bill for this
visitation.
May 23, 2015
May 23, 2015 at 5:23 PM UTC
he's terrified of her voice
that whips his eardrums like kashmir switches
and tickles his diaphragm until he convulses
in nervous laughter inside his head
the way it inquires broadly,
like an opera written in tornado sirens and megaphones
and the brightness of lighthouses,
for conversation he thought
had drowned long ago and only
reemerges as bubbles on the lake's surface
a boiling body popping deafeningly
with anxiety, and plumping
bravery pasta, which smells seductive,
which he loves...
he's just not hungry right now.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 2:49 PM UTC
I am now, I am now...
for reasons you need not concern yourself,
oft disappear for an hour or two,
making an odd combination of
groans and moans,
that she follows like a crumb trail through the forest,
til she finds me and asks if I’m OK,
and answer-true, same-always, when only she inquires,
smile>gritted teeth, laugh line>worry line,
I am now, I am now
Mar 3, 2018
Mar 3, 2018 at 7:28 AM UTC
Still dark.
The unknown bird sits on his usual branch.
The little dog next door barks in his sleep
inquiringly, just once.
Perhaps in his sleep, too, the bird inquires
once or twice, quavering.
Questions--if that is what they are--
answered directly, simply,
by day itself.
Enormous morning, ponderous, meticulous;
gray light streaking each bare branch,
each single twig, along one side,
making another tree, of glassy veins...
The bird still sits there. Now he seems to yawn.
The little black dog runs in his yard.
His owner's voice arises, stern,
"You ought to be ashamed!"
What has he done?
He bounces cheerfully up and down;
he rushes in circles in the fallen leaves.
Obviously, he has no sense of shame.
He and the bird know everything is answered,
all taken care of,
no need to ask again.
--Yesterday brought to today so lightly!
(A yesterday I find almost impossible to lift.)
2.4k
The young whale inquires
to his beloved dad
"Where did I come from?"
Answering his son
with a thanks from him
he had replied, "You're whalecum."
Apr 8, 2017
Apr 8, 2017 at 8:30 AM UTC
early after-noon, she quizzes,
“would I be ok with
skinless boneless roasted
chicken breast, with sautéed
mushrooms for our dinner,
ce soir?”
so smile I,
for it is a favored menu
of pleasure,
from one who has never
presented us a meal
that is less than perfect
later, she shyly inquires,
“would be ok if we to eat
a little early, I have a salon,
followed by an
Argentine Tango dance milonga
tonight and one starts early (and
tango parties
end typically
the next day?
(no|si, me, don’t dance)
of course, respondez in
the affirmative, thus
confirming our love with the
consideration that veins
out affection mutual
and then I add:
“instead of an hours food prep,
which distracts you from the hour
deeded for dressing
for dancing motivation proper,
and add a little kick-her:
*I love you so much,
would happily consume
your tuna fish salad sandwich,
every night, for the rest of our
lives together, it’s fast
and simple, a dis-less-stressing
concoction, that we both enjoy*
she (s)miles a sweetened thanks,
after numerous reassurances,
that our love only grows
stronger with acts of smart
sensitivity to each others needs,
no standard of care breached,
au contraire, meant sincerely,
earning me a secondary
whiling smiling
and this true story is a poem,
has been writ a thousand times,
in a million different tiny gestures,
of which, I am proud
she exhales a breath elongated,
a release of an admixture of differing
pleasures released, and goes into the
night to dance in the arms of strangers,
which concerns me
not at all,
after all,
these many years,
aware she moves exquisitely
in a dance that demands years
of practice, for it requires
intangible silent of the merest
slight finger pressures to guide
the dancer what next steps
are coy coming,
and I have stolen this
knot of knowledge,
for mine own purposes,
secretly & selfishly,
employing these techniques,
for most of the time we’ve
been together
this poem of
tuna fish sandwiches,
becomes a dance of words
which is
my specialty, which she will
read in the morning l, maybe,
if I send it to her,
though obviously,
that is unnecessary 😉
as she returns to our bed,
me asleeping, she,
exhaustingly satisfied,
sleeeps deeper
secured by the knowing
that we, are both,
the beneficiaries of:
my learned dancing
practices
for such is
the ways of the poet!
Dec 14, 2024
Dec 14, 2024 at 10:39 AM UTC
And I suppose my pretty daisy that I've been far too lazy
Laying amongst all the flow ers of the breeze
The children of the trees
Jumping blindly and landing on our knees
I waited all night listening to your piano riff
As I star gazed and began to float a drift
All the places that I flew above
Were gleaming from the most purest love
And all together in their own way they all just gently swayed
Bumped back to back, soaked in their familiar bath
Inquires of broken beats and tongues speak of those too weak
The mind an instrument to rewind and cut up
Taking and tossing all these miles of deceit
Files for free feet
Piles of pleasure peaks
Stacked them high for all to see and we all laughed in a joyous symphony
This waiting line had choked our minds
And now we leave it all behind
To float in the sky, using only our mind's eye
Living in the depths of our heart's cry
Nov 4, 2012
Nov 4, 2012 at 7:46 PM UTC
I watched a miracle appear
Almost
Ten years ago
and Deja Vu
now its all You.
From a friend,
for a Friend,
and Not a foe...
Behold,
a story of victory unfolds!
uncanny though you may think
that the stink of hell and BS
be over powered and now somewhat plastered
on a wall for the evil eye to dance the
opposite YAW
im sorry did i pull a moment of Leaves?
a published nightmare, once re-visited
with re-occurring themes yet all linked
on a funny little string of life.
now onto these unstable legs,
garbled communication,
just learning
to rely on himself,
transportation
wanting out the cage
and asleep without worry for his age.
but hes adorable
and his actions chuck full of thought
but this all has the same meaning
of moving forward
feeling
a breeze of excitement
an air of delight
when suddenly summer
becomes winter
these logs i ... chuck ...
to a fire to warm the inquires with--
**** these splinters.
to look around the circle of those
i now start in thought
to hold in a varied definition of "close"
i'll keep by the shadow and watch
and if its a connect four
bingo, plinko, and even/or tic-tac-toe
its that feeling of victory
we all love to know.
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 1:02 AM UTC
You drip into my thoughts like a slip of the tongue and blushing of parted lips; ravenous.
Your indulgence of my masochistic inquires is shamelessly scandalous,
Akin to a laceration of lace and a bursting of buttons, unraveling the threads of my modesty.
The consequences stripping me of my delicacy exposing the betrayal of my anatomy.
Brutality and savagery quicken my submission and the remnants of my restraint will succumb; a hunger.
Dive into the warmth of my energy, the color of my heart, the wavelength of my soul; exploit.
Your devilish grin growing, dilated pupils following my form taking sadistic pleasure in my resistance to a futile fight.
Wide eyes watch your teeth sink into the purity of my flesh, porcelain complexion now stained with crimson red; capitulation to a carnal sentiment; surrender.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 5:15 PM UTC
there is an owl
out there
somewhere
in the darkness
kept secret
by whispering trees
shrouded
in shadow
by leaf
and cloud
it seems
to have a question
for any
who will listen
politely
but persistently
it inquires
pausing briefly
awaiting
an answer
before asking
again
and again;
whether intended
or not
this interrogation
has infuriated
the old boy
and seemingly
every other canine
in the vicinity
Sep 15, 2022
Sep 15, 2022 at 10:43 AM UTC
just before never...
*my last performance,
the words came original
and easy, unlike all its
predecessors; someone
drew me a map of my
life and times, cities,
countries, and roads
well travelled and a few,
not too. Mountains, each with
a woman’s name, who carried
care, until she couldn’t, didn’t, and
time’s weathering returned us
individually into hillocks, and then
rain eroded us back into old soil.
the broad highways and back roads,
always snaking away, fork-forcing
directional choices, usually taking the
wrong way, the easy and safe one,
and how I have come to hate those
words: easy and safe, for they
are the pill combo that leaves you
for dead, dulling the questioning
one inquires of oneself, late, reluctantly.
But there is always the unexpected.
Today I saw a sunset on the Hudson
River with a humpback whale blowing,
running beside a river ferry, plowing the
waters back and forth tween two states.
Lived by this river for s e v e n t y years,
and have seen the whales in many places,
but here, in my city, in the river of my youth,
never.
and I got the sign, message received, there
are still sights and poems to behold, arms to
embrace, youngers to guide if they’ll permit it.
so this title, these two, just before,
this day, poem, came to remind me, the
days map remains unfinished, there are lands
and voyages and poems still awaiting drawing,
and it is tomorrow, and just before tomorrow, that
recording insistent demands, and a map is just a
moment in time, until just before...never*
5:28 AM Thu Dec 10
2020 (a year deserving
of its own line and ending)
Manhattan, between two rivers.
Dec 10, 2020
Dec 10, 2020 at 5:48 AM UTC
Passion
a passionate mind is searching
for ways to show desire
a passionate soul inquires
of ways to ignite the fire
passion is more than caring
it is the hearing of whispering leaves
passion is more than sharing
it is everything that one believes
passion defines the depth of your heart
to show the things that you love
the echos that ring are only the start
passion comes from above
Gomer Lepoet...
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 6:58 AM UTC
The butter’s too hard.
The pressure of the broken knife handle
leaves imprints of alien-like creatures on her little palm.
Slicing through morning rays like a red-hot blade through butter,
she raises her hand, and inspects the outlandish patterns with curiosity:
A school of koi carp,
teeth as sharp as prison razor wire,
are using their fins to harvest two-headed sunflowers
which are growing from within the tip of a giant scorpion tail.
Dark clouds are looming over Dragon’s Fang Mountain. The wind is howling.
Ten Bone Warriors
emerge from a grotto— a cavity
at the foot of the mountain, where their bows shine bright,
even in the fading light; wild puffs of excitement steam-fills the air—
the riders’ horses’ nostrils flare— a dance of death tramples over all things white.
The koi sense trouble;
some dive away and hide between the roots,
they disappear into the scorpion tail’s cracks and craters,
others harvest as fast as their fins can work, craning their necks.
The Bone Warriors’ arrows rain down on the sunflower field. Lightning strikes.
Pop! goes the toaster;
she walks towards the refrigerator,
and rubs her hand on her Spongebob apron.
Her mother inquires how breakfast is coming along;
Nika shakes her head and giggles, says it’s going to be the breakfast ever.
Feb 4, 2011
Feb 4, 2011 at 4:16 PM UTC
These graceful ballerinas,
seem to be so strong,
from high strung
chandeliers.
an eerie sight it is
to look upon society
at your finest, at your worst.
someday I want to join
these ballerinas,
on stage all is well,
perfectly placed and put together.
no one inquires
off stage.
how nice,
no personal life,
to worry about.
Aug 3, 2013
Aug 3, 2013 at 8:09 PM UTC
The muse inquires,
knowing that a question such as this is
cannon fodder, an off-the-shoulder-blouse tease,
just a hint of cleavage, a whiff of parfume,
something to make poet sneeze,
ejecting an answering essay
without a clue where to go, but,
now the fifth gear engaged,
compulsion full,
immédiatement, en ce moment, laisser's aller!
and he knows exactly what to say
what if poet possessed a special character,
to define the sadness that reflects that
summer has had its memory card wiped,
and even though today,
will be a Saturday of
jeans shorts, a halter top, sort of day,
the chill of dreaded winter is not coming,
already present and accounted for,
enchanté, déjanté,
has already encased his heart in ice so thick,
that even if poet drank a Joni case
of his fav summer quaff,
un provence rose,
his seasonal loss cannot be overcome,
the summer man~king is dead
all that in but a single character, a precise capture,
a labor and time saving device, but
a character with no character
for the labor would be love lost
yet you swear by your succinct emojis,
their immaculate efficient composition,
and I would not trade one accidental,
just-slipped-out I love you
even for ten thousand disheartening heart symbols
would you prefer
|£%!<#
instead of:
*I love you so much it is
driving me batshit crazy!*
I'm stuck with my troop of twenty six
and their multiple endless quilted rearrangements
call me old and out of fashion,
to your question,
this poem is my ask and answered at 5:13am
Sep 23, 2017
Sep 23, 2017 at 5:30 AM UTC
“My dear little one, what do you want? What do you need right now? Sweet little girl, what do you want?” asks DT
I gently whisper my response, "I want to feel better."
“Okay, tell me more,” he softly inquires.
I take a deep breath and continue, “I want to be okay with all of my feelings and I don’t want to be afraid to share them. I want to believe that I am not my past, that my past is just a part of me. I want to be loved for who I am, and not what I have accomplished. I want to be authentic and real, and not be afraid to show the real me, all of me. I want to laugh more, that deep belly laugh, until tears of joy stream down my cheeks. And I want to cry less from that desperate, hopeless place I find myself in during the night. I want to be able to sleep without nightmares and no longer fear the darkness. I want to live without the voices in the shadows of my mind telling me I am bad, worthless, undeserving of care and love. I want to believe in myself, and I want to believe in others too. I want to trust. I want to understand, at the core of my being, that I am safe, and that I am going to be okay, no matter what happens.”
“Is there anything else?” DT asks me.
“I want to love myself for who I am. I want to recognize that I am working hard, that I will be okay. I want to love myself just because I am alive, and I am strong, and I deserve to find peace and happiness. I want to love all of me, even the parts I have not yet accepted and the parts that I do not like. I want to feel the love I have for myself every single day, even if only in some small way, even if only for a minute."
He answers my request in a soft confident voice,
"You will have these things. I believe in you. You will be okay. You will live."
Jan 10, 2014
Jan 10, 2014 at 12:37 AM UTC
**It's 5:00 pm,
any poems to share?**
*my watchwoman, Seamless Siri,
my conscientious conscience,
gives said inquiry daily,
at the precise heure de rigeur,
with the perfection of a
mechanized soul attending to her
imperfect human programmer
poetry, a sometime thing,
comes when it comes,
what the query,
my godmother faerie,
truly seeks knowledge of is
something she cannot measure,
like my counted steps and distances travelled,
what this overseer mine truly seeks to know*
why am I here?
*Here. On this earth. On this site.
have you any new written proofs,
your existence on this day to justify,
were your failings and flailings,
surpassed by any acts of kindness,
this new, freshest penmanship, a reflection,
an accounting of grace and worth,
blogged and logged here
as if only I had
one day,
one poem
left...
at tabulation time, the incisor bites,
are you juiced or morbid,
this, your essayed life,
are the words,
deemed shareable,
is their value,
calculable palpable?
Siri inquires but you are jury
at the late afternoon
trial by fire,
wherein my singed bunt offerings
are produced
at the
wake of when,
my nom I do append
am I deserving
of your recompense
of one more day,
one more poem?*
~~for Harlon~~
5:13 pm
November 21, 2015
Nov 23, 2015
Nov 23, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
My mind wanders
My soul inquires
Am I enough?
"You are the best"
"You're all i need"
Thats what you said
But is that the truth?
Do you mean that?
After all that happened?
You have said it before,
Before all it happened
Before my heart broke
And here you are
Saying it again
My heart is scared
To trust with its might
To love with its all
For the same thing
To happen again
What is so different?
From then en now?
Please let me know
I want to be enough
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 2:31 AM UTC
My days are tormented by longing,
So many dreams life did not fulfill,
Longing for the love that never came,
(Yet the gallant heart is hopeful still)
I'm longing to foresee the future -
Just how long will my loneliness last?
Old memories offer no comfort,
So I'm longing to forget the past
I'm longing to know if God exists,
In my mind it still remains unclear;
Who shall I praise for nature's beauty,
Witnessing its wrath, whom shall I fear?
Few praise God in all circumstances,
The faithful pay homage without doubt;
But I'm perplexed by the suffering
Born of disease, war, famine and drought
I'm torn between loving and hating
A God who cannot seem to decide
If wrath or mercy is deserving ....
So both arrive, with hope on the side
I'm weary of this life of longing,
I seek my refuge in solitude;
Abandoning unanswered questions,
I ascend to spheres of quietude
But end of day finds my heart longing
That just one of life's schemes be revealed:
Fearing the reply, still it inquires:
Will love be mine? Or has my fate been sealed!
May 28, 2017
May 28, 2017 at 1:50 PM UTC
Apologies
Promises to new beginnings
second chances
second chances
I gave us another try
Broken
Oh! My stomach
it dropped
it dropped
like the death of a thousand butterflies
Concealment
The real you
no virtue
no truth
only lies
Deception
There were others
other women
other girls
I was just another prize
Excitemnt
You wanted me
my heart
my heart
it leaped with pride
Friendship
We were together
first date
first kiss
you laughed, I sighed
Goodbyes
Your mind changed
unresolved
unexplained
for all my life I'll wonder why
Hesitaion
Should I fight?
with words
with effort
No I keep these feelings inside
Introspection
I want answers
was it me?
was it me?
My insecurities multiply
Jaded
Overwhelmed with fatigue
eyes closed
eyes closed
I sleep off the day though it isnt dignified
Knowledge
to lack experience
sheltered
sheltered
Perhaps Im not as qualified
Lonliness
I reach for
the phone
the phone
Then hang up because its better to hide
Moments
replaying real scenarios
your movements
your smile
My mind now fully occupied
Nothing
are you ok?
its nothing
its nothing
I say! Except for my heart collapsing in like some silent suicide
Opportunities
another suitor approaches
he inquires
he inquires
Doesnt he know Im terrified?
Prospects
He likes me
feelings
feelings
I cant decide
Quiet
praying, hands extended
only silence
only silence
I look up into an empty sky
Rumors
you speak badly
of me
of me
mouth opened wide
Stagnet
affection comes slow
Im shy
Im shy
Men come at me in strides
Tragedy
all my efforts
in vain
in vain
Desires split, disperse, then divide
Unexplored
"True Love Waits"
***
***
Acceptable only when Im someones bride
Vows
made in wine
never again
never again
Words often pledged when I think on you and I
Wasted
all this time
true love
real love
You mean to tell me it died? Was crucified?
Xs
Your new girlfriend
dont stare
dont stare
I turned my face I think I cried
Years
Life goes on
Tick
Tock
Please hurry and pass me by
Zigzags
Poems wrote in
fragments
lines
Painful rejection glorified
Jun 28, 2017
Jun 28, 2017 at 1:28 AM UTC
<?>
god gave us little toes so when we are rushing our socks on,
the little toe has something to cling to, and a way to say, hey!
slow down
god gave us powerful pinkies, the littlest of the five fingers,
to give us balance, and reflection, that being upright
is a good thing
god did not give us eyes in the back of the head,
because he forgot to order the integrated circuitry
and was too embarrassed to admit it, but if you look closely,
you can see where they were supposed to go...oops,
no can do
<?>
*she, a voracious vicarious, reads a new book almost daily
when I dismissed the time spent as an investment
with a finality of no return, she demurred, purred,
au contraire, my dove, every book expands the who of me
and with so many ahead, yet unread, I'll live forever*
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she inquires why I write so many poems, easy comes reply:
It gives me a fantastic living, it makes and gives, each poem,
a calculation, a reconciliation of who I am...a miner of the wealth in my veins
Sep 9, 2017
Sep 9, 2017 at 10:51 AM UTC