It’s been a while since I wrote here and I’ll tell you why. JOBS. Two of them.
This is newly written, and like my earlier stream of consciousness poem, I took a whole page and threw out some words.
here’s a legible version:
I to my perils
came not like A.E. Housman
clad in armor by stars benign.
I swam to them in my PJs
water logged, hair kinked
and trouble was a bonfire.
I was the mosquito and the jet was my blood meal.
Whoever shaved before 8th grade wished too hard for time to pass
and passing is the great curse and gift of prickly knees.
I dragged myself through marshes by tufts of leg hair
to which I gleamed a shining eye to Hope
I’d not trifle with a fleeting love
or mad money and me, the poet,
the victim of my own desires.
If I was a better friend, the last line
would have been my own design.