Old Walt
I took this poetry class once.
For two weeks; was I lasted.
The prof. was all about Walt Whitman.
He probably looked liked him too.
Although, I’ve never looked it up.
So enamored with the silly idea.
“Old Walt”
standing in his mirror smelling his armpit.
I don’t remember what the poem was.
Well I’ll bet he’d love this one.
After mid-night, me awake.
and ever so gently releasing a fart
under the covers.
Next to my naked
and sleeping girlfriend.
No conversation.
Just a yawn over quite radio.
It’s late, and cold; my last night home.
most appropriate.
crystal
A crystal night.
4am, and freezing.
alone in my driveway.
simple hope.
- we all look at the same stars.
pretty girl
Elevator conversation – so fleeting.
wish i worked in a taller building
so weak
Why is it so hard
to just wake up
and do what you should do?
what we want to do.
just -
get up before work
and go to the gym.
