Let them fray their tongues
there’s poetry yet to be written


They’ll talk until their tongues fray
But I’ll love them with my poetry anyway
When their lips can’t pass a word to say
I’ll be their voice, and for their souls pray


As much as I’d love to help everyone, I can’t,
Not especially people who are conniving
Who I see from far horizons
Approaching with wild ego’s galloping
As if I was a carcass for feasting
They make for good muses.

The talking is a given. They won’t stop. That’s their job.

My job is to pay attention and extract the nuances of the human condition.


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