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NUYORICAN POET’S CAFÉ
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SOME FOOL ON A HIGH HORSE
Sitting in the Nuyorican Poet’s Café and popping down a Heineken. All that is poetry has fallen from me. I am void of depth or feeling. I can do no wrong or right. I am an abyss of silent delusion. Overheard poets speaking and dancing around subjective interpretation of experience. Feeling a trifle tired and losing interest. Got to get back up and get on with the whole damn thing.
Poets still rapping
but loss of passion welling
hopelessly I cling
to delusions of glory
final poetic triumph
