un poem

excite my pen in rhythmic phrase
exploit my poetry of days

i dream of life and life dreams me
and in my dreams my years set free

hello, i start, and stop again
ahem, that is, and then…and then?

many words and none will fit
where’s the clever? where’s the wit?

i think my poem circles ‘round
it stands and walks and won’t sit down
 
despite the fact i've naught to say
do it pretty, not blasé

 

 

ghost