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