bad poet

It's late tonight
my guitar has no strings
I think in cliche
I am wearing my favorite pants
–and my favorite hat too

The honest one
I am not the other things
this late I am a bad poet
but it feels so good

Reality comes early tomorrow
I do this while I can
I am not taken seriously
and I take myself too seriously

For fun write my eulogy and work from there
persistence is a necessity once you know you are going to die
To Jim:
am I trying too hard?
would I do this without you?
you're another doomed to die
"will I sell more records when I'm dead?"

Is it possible to forget
to forget the reason
you work
you try
you love
you die?

I don't think I know
like a bad poet
if I fill pages will I find answers
if I fill pages will I find only more questions
or nothing at all
wasted ink paper time

Serious talk
what a thing so feared
and so loved loved

City lights blink
I am not there
oh really?
no I am not
intoxicating infuriating solitude

What will my gift be to you?
what will you take away?
at this late hour
filling pages
with reasoning I don't understand a bad poet

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