Words come out at me
in crazy dreams
of poets who've lost their gleam,
awakening visions I thought I'd cleaned
out of my closet-mind.
But grease spouts out in forms
of energy trying hard
to make me see,
that love and life
are what makes my
whining, tear-drained eyes still cry.....
so I,
find the time and write.
That silly notion's losing fight,
thank God, I think,
while awakened visions begin
to clear my closet-mind. . . .
Words come out of me
with haste,
I follow, trying to glean as much
as my
pen catches and through this,
I see
this poet may still have some gleam . . . .(!)
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