Word Fornicator

uutpoetry:

Not Just Any Old Poem
Not just any old poem can become an amazing walking stick. You need to renounce your possessions, your wives, and come to a place of inner silence. Listen to the breeze, the whales far off under the earth, the helicopters. It’s not about keeping your inbox empty: there is no inbox. Or, everything is your inbox, and all the insects are singing and you’re wearing a golden belt. The music begins. You’re on a non-stop bus to New York city, and you’ve got  a sandwich, apple and Snickers bar in your lunchbag. You are seven hundred years old and so beautiful as I look at you while you’re sleeping in my bed.
art by A.T. Velazco

uutpoetry:

Not Just Any Old Poem

Not just any old poem can become an amazing walking stick.
You need to renounce your possessions, your wives,
and come to a place of inner silence. Listen to the breeze,
the whales far off under the earth, the helicopters.
It’s not about keeping your inbox empty: there is no inbox.
Or, everything is your inbox, and all the insects are singing
and you’re wearing a golden belt. The music begins.
You’re on a non-stop bus to New York city, and you’ve got
a sandwich, apple and Snickers bar in your lunchbag.
You are seven hundred years old and so beautiful
as I look at you while you’re sleeping in my bed.

art by A.T. Velazco