this just goes to show that when you put
two overindulged thoughts together
very little good will come of the attempt
over my writing and so often mentioned
possible talent
I have become cagey and singularly spent
how does one reprimand one's own
infinite badness
happiness is most elusive
in the deepest regions of one soul's sadness
I'm rarely this petty or argumentative
my technique may be somewhat jaded
but it's still original and quite inventive
prosperity is not always the 'top dog' incentive
mine fall far along the lines of that of
the obsessively demented
I rarely rule mental imbalance out as a possible
leading factor
I'm not much the mover or shaker
I play closer to the role of the alter ego
opposing actor
poetry comes so easily to me that I could quite
possibly write it in my sleep
from all the hours of lonely labor I spent putting
lines to the crisp clean page
from them I have now started to reap
I spend a lot of time these days on my own
but to the society of the young's
stupidity party
their view I don't claim to condone
I write off in a corner all to myself
to keep my thoughts uninterrupted and privately
enclosed
modern poetry prose writing courses today
to this very idea wold probably be highly opposed
very few books on the era of rich romanticism do I
dive into headfirst with my nose
my current ignorance aligns to that very statement
now I suppose
what better place to stop my rioting thoughts than
here where I'll put an end to this close........
( written June 17,1991 evening)