The amazing poet that hides in my head and only comes out when no one is around

Something about speed
velocity
and my mind

how quickly thoughts move
created and forgotten
before I can even write
them down

Moments of shear genius
(to me)
that I’m rarely ever
able to get right
on the page

So in my mind
I’m Frank O’Hara
I’m Pablo Neruda
I’m Jack fucking Kerouac

But on the page …
on the page
I’m a stumbling
bumbling
mumbling
clown
who can’t even spell

But in my mind …
in my mind
I’m the goddamn
demigod of poetic fire

If only …
If only I could live the
life in my head and
not the one
on the page of the world

D. James

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One response to “The amazing poet that hides in my head and only comes out when no one is around

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