dark corners of a dollar bill
the edge of a love poem
the inside of a napkin
reasons we create for believing its all worth it
those who cannot win
(not because they’re unable to compete
but because they know
inside
there’s no reason to)
dark corners of a dollar bill
the edge of a love poem
the inside of a napkin
reasons we create for believing its all worth it
those who cannot win
(not because they’re unable to compete
but because they know
inside
there’s no reason to)
All the good people I know are defeated.
Soar
-ing
into themselves,
deep and lonely –
especially the voices stuck inside an echo chamber,
a poet’s words bouncing back and forth,
back
and –
one can’t constantly
turn
oneself on
and yet
if it weren’t for the
dispossessed dreamers,
the unreconciled romantics
hovering
cold
within
that bear mountain
tavern
of a lonely head,
a near-ghosted spirit –
well then,
no beauty would ever
stand a chance,
no flower
would ever be bold
and crazy enough
to bloom
amidst
the ghettos
of the soul.
*