rolling words across this page like a dung beetle
until I balled paper up
making a pitiful nest out of strange thoughts.
This was a dismal abode.
If minimalism was a syllable,
I now lived in a sentence too dead to inhabit.
Pitching a tent of blank canvas
near an abandoned adjective
I managed to pour out some clichés for a birthday card.
It was then I lay down my pen, leaning back,
remembering my creative friend
whom I abandoned for a dollar.
I picked up my pen;
it now weighed heavier than a basilica cross - stabbing
my chest I became doubly depressed
noticing my man cans are now larger than last year.
Non creative with hairy tits-
No amount of money can save you from that.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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wow...this is awesome....i like it a lot
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Simply genius.
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Why am I not surprised?... lol. A creative, amusing and distinctly DP Robertsonesque verse about the bane of every serious writer. It's so good to see your work gracing the pages of AP again. I wish you well in the contest.
Sincerely,
Leo Long
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oddly, this cheered me up a bit.
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