I sit here with no thought Lost in a poet’s maze Not trying hard to find myself Or a way out to peace I am sitting in a place called nowhere Nobody knows me or I them No expectations may be made I’ll crawl my way home again I scratch out some words They sound deep and absurd I’ll put them in a different order Maybe my frustration will be cured My body is tense as I sit Anyone could tell I am stoked Black ink blots on white paper My musing looks purple and choked I do not know the time as I sit here in a place not known They are calling for a poet’s dance I will definitely dress as a clown Stanski March 11, 2020^
Skip to content
Steve Haarman 