I’m
writin’ all this poetry,
my
soul doth wax poetic,
but
re-reading, seems to be
a
mental diuretic.
Words
rush out and find collision
at
the gates of brain,
and
in their mad indecision
shout
to all that I’m insane.
I
need them to get organsed,
rank
and file, and toe the line,
and
not rear back, shocked and surprised
at
some rhyming Frankenstein
whose
giant mudswept stomping boot
has
some new message to impute.
Music from Burt Bacharach, with Something Big. Why not?
I do try to answer each comment in a timely fashion, but with Internet providers really stretched, I have only about half of the access I once did. Please bear with me!
Thanks to Carol Ashby, Blessed Are The Pure Of Heart is back on Kindle, and will be available in paperback soon.
Love it Andrew. You're amazing!
ReplyDeleteCrazy people have the most fun.
ReplyDeleteHow did I miss this? Love it.
ReplyDelete