Wednesday, December 16, 2015

this is just a tribute

Earlier today, a poem sprang into my mind. This near-perfect construction of rhyming, metered words coalesced. The pattern and themes and diction established themselves; it could have been expanded into something of depth, song, and meaning.

I almost pulled the car over to write it down. I should have pulled the car over to write it down.

And now the baby sings distractions into my ear.

I mean, I'm homeless, we're sans home, living in a van, We had no itinerary, the pawn shop was open all day. It was only the ghosts of chains, subconscious imperatives to go, achieve rapidity.

I am free, but not from memory.

(obviously I hold not copyright on the spudboy's image and masterworks

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