"Paper is Poor Company"
Paper is poor company
these letters, vowels
meant to be read aloud
but silent, without sound
bloodless ink upon the page.
I write poetry on napkins
bathroom stalls and to people
words dribble from my pen
all lost and disconnected
without a set of eyes to see
But some see, then don't read
so all that is left are holes
in the body of me, my corpus
a line of footprints in the snow.
The poet wanders -
Sandaled, chucked, always bound feet-
with no place to go.
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