I wish sometimes That I had other poets To talk to But then They all have Their own language Some of it Is very difficult To understand Just when I thought I had a connection made A rejection slip arrives I understand the end of the game I sit here now At the wood grained table And would be talk seems useless I am in the kitchen The words come pouring out Sharp wounds are remembered I sit on a cushion My body is aching and bruised I am happy though Because I know my place I know my place My truth holds true Will not be defeated I have been here before Mistakes are made Long term regrets; not mine I hear the wailing of once overconfident people I sit here aware Not part of a game I own some fault I moved religiously In the path that was mine Interference did not make me lame I sing out now in my own happy words While I sit here in no place Just happy to know the tune No worry about who cares or why Stanski April 3, 2020 ^
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Steve Haarman 