There were these poems
by Marshall Gass
hashed together in haste
insipid limp and lifeless
devoid of dare, unable to stir the mind
into frenzied ecstasy
no sparkle no lustre
no meaning to extract.
They were enjoyable too
dirty linen on a laundry line
unpegged and nonrhythmic
homeless words with unhappy visuals
floating in a sea of scum
just sitting on a page
so many of mine are exactly like that
unwanted, homeless little beasts
cooked up in a frenzy of haste
pompous and pretentious
lying like a cold corpse
on a concrete slab in some strange mortuary
name tag on a toe
waiting for a quick burial.
Ive decided to write better poems now
leave the fluff to be vacuumed away
and spend long hours thinking through
the magic that rises from mists
of intense thinking.
once a month
with twenty nine drafts.
no more mediocre for me.
see you again next month
take care while i work up a froth.
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved,11 days ago