See this
is where it gets weird
assembling verse
out of the irrecoverable past
verse flashing by
at indeterminable speeds
so fast
unable the moment to grasp
block off
my surrounding with verbal distance
but sound travels
and interrupts the irreversible beat
another line
appears in an instance
my thoughts
f*#~ing in my summer retreat
I don’t have
the degree to be famous
I don’t have
the luck to get laid
I just want
to get into this
like a apprentice
exiguous I am paid
its not art
anymore they scorn me
as I sell
my verses for a dollar each
it's not obvious
as they try to railroad me
when I echo
the words they preach
so let he
who is so cool kill me
for I have written
some truth in words
and allow she
who is so willing to thrill me
do so before
I die of thirst

by John Zeller

Other poems of ZELLER (40)

Comments (1)

Impressive quilling, J.Z...Your employment of short cropped, tight & crisp linage affords your audience a mellifluous, eye-pleasing read... ~FjR~