Tuesday, January 18, 2022


 Poem #36

In the end, the poems were all bad

And the rain was no ablution

Even the holy waters were dirty.

Ultimately, thunder no longer frightened

And the lightning failed to awe

For I had lost everything I had.

I had lost everything I thought 

I had and what was left were

Just the poems that were all bad.

You try writing a good one, down

To your last few adjectives and nouns

Clonking around in a bag of bones

Without the fear of thunder 


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