Now that I am 74
I shall not study any more
and should you ever wonder why
I’ll surely forget it when I die.
Inspiration.
A poet hears it.
A poet sees it.
A poet smells it.
No landscape is hidden.
No subject is beyond words.
Nothing can evade the poet’s pen.
Their arms raised high in clear blue sky
In exile from the gallows call
their flaws long since exposed.
Undo the stitches of the bears velvet skin
and talk to the snake who resides therein
and if the snake tries to bit you
sow him back in and seal it with glue.