Imaginary Poetry

It’s written by an illusive poet
lost somewhere in limbo
his muse looks for him

Whispers of lust
but the choppers overhead
don’t heed the dead

A general loved napalm
says I’ll show em global warming
Great balls of fire

It’s mistaken as Northern Lights
insurgents in America
removing immigrants, guarding Wal-Mart
hiding inside is the illusive one
penning masterfully the imaginary

Looking at his muse
he becomes sidetracked
They’ll rebuild

She smiles so sexy
but this is the end
he writes imagining
soldiers in the street
bringing us democracy

It’s written by an illusive poet
lost with his muse
on a street in New Orleans

©Dale Clark