Saturday, December 10, 2011

How 'bout this?

I don't want to be
the greatest living Poet.
Too much work,
not enough money.
famous when I'm dead...
no pressure, no burn-out,
plenty of time to relax.

I am the poet
with a switchblade corkscrew.
I can type faster one-eyed
and one fingered than
I can read.
Can't write a rhymed poem
to save my loving soul,
but I know the blues
when I feel them.

Fame would just come
between me and the Word.
I can't spare time for anything else.
Call my agent after I depart,
I'll give you an interview.

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