I’m not really a poet

I’m anti-gravity

I’m stale mashed potatoes and gravy

I’m what’s left out

After your last pay check

I’m the last words your wife says

Before she kicks you out

I’m the bum you most want to avoid

Nah, I ain’t no poet

I’m the lamplight the city always

Forgets to fix

I’m smallpox

I’m aphasia

I’m that feeling you have

After bad sex

My rhymes are epileptic seizures

My metaphors and similes

Lost airport Bagage

I’m a fucking mess

Don’t read me

But please

Do

Pay for my dinner


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