You Know That Well That I Do Not Edit My Poems

there is no aim for fame
there is only this gut, this push, this inspiration
to write a poem
every morning,
even at noontime when there is so much to do
a poem is an icebreaker
it is cold to my tongue like a refresher
or even at nighttime
when everyone is fast asleep dreaming
when i am sleepless over a word
that strikes in my mind
like a bowling pin
i write put on words like a hat
and hold it there
like a staff for now i am an old man
with no one to talk to
no where to go
no one to sleep with as i think about the memories of my youth
summers and
rainy days
barefoot on the river
socks in my hands
crazy on a covenant
as death begins to whisper
the last word
for the last poem.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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