the trouble with poetry is thunderous clouds of uncertainty in the room as well as the sky souls laid bare visible to the naked eye
Image from Daniel Stewart
the trouble with poetry is thunderous clouds of uncertainty in the room as well as the sky souls laid bare visible to the naked eye
Image from Daniel Stewart
inside i'm no scribe can't hide monotonous diatribe no windowed world view just a faded watercolour of shifting hues watching grey's melt into blues
Who cares what I have to say Just a middle aged dad with a mortgage to pay Who am I, well if you listen to the rumours I'm to old to be millennial, to young to be a boomer.
Too lazy to read Too busy to chew No time to have a Conversation with you Leave me a message Leave me alone Why would you talk to someone On the phone Who carries cash Who calls a cab No need to leave home, I'm the immobile hermit crab.