my poetry: wham!
No bang! No thanks.
No thank you ma'am.
I want to slouch
on a couch in my house,
and read poems slow:
long poems, lights low,
with friends drinking booze
as we ponder our muse.
No scoring, no prize.
Or maybe outside
on warm lazy days
we'll lounge in the shade
without trying to grade
the poems we made,
and our motiveless mirth
will be aimless enough
to encompass the earth
and the stars and the moon
until, late or soon,
our ecstasies cease
as our cups' slow surfeit
sends us all off to sleep.
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