I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
You are looking for Someone to misread your work In just the right way
By D. J. Reddallabout a year ago in Poets
Permit me to confess my secret hope: Since I was very small and full of dreams I have wished with leonine grace to lope
If things are driving you nuts And you’re anything like me Which you must be, if things are driving you nuts You will blame yourself, and in many cases
What was wrong with us? A mad fool was the ruler Our hearts desired
Imagine Paris, many years ago Untouched by the internet or cell phones Gently caressed by sunlight and fresh snow With a heart that loves all, which no one owns
It was frustrating Knowing that I left my home When I left your arms
We obey the dog in any weather He has four gods himself, queer quadruped: Nose, stomach, anus and swollen bladder We know his offerings must be scooped
Winter has arrived The most terrible of guests Gaunt, silent and cold
Writing and reading With and for one another Some sort of heaven?
The fearsome geometry of winter Shows that the elements are indifferent To us, as vines ignore the young vintner No domicile can calculate the rent
No utopia Makes the humans do the chores While robots "write" books
Infuse frost with a chilled, clear intellect Immunize it against all writer’s block Grant it the liberty now to select
