even the good ones say
no one really wants
a sixty-four-year-old poet
in the prime of his life
sitting on seven kegs
of immortal dreams
where's the sense in that
arguing with matches
walking the lawless way
the poet's a ratbag
he writes another poem
when night turns to morning
there are thunderstorms
We're all sixty four
ReplyDeletethe rat's in the bag
lawless as broken cuffs
the match ignites
any way
:))
Deletehave to consider cause and effect here
ReplyDelete
ReplyDeleteHe who sees the Paṭiccasamuppāda sees the Dhamma;
He who sees the Dhamma sees the Paṭiccasamuppāda.
(Here's my bus...)
Ah Rob - another Lawless beauty! What did Talking Heads say - burn the house down - the lawless way, of course :)
ReplyDeleteCheers, dear Kristen. Thanks for listening so well.
Delete