No No No…I can’t go down that road
I’m a poet, man.
Life’s got all tripped out on money
but I can’t get busy with that.
I got poems to write.
There’s a reason I’m itinerant
can’t get drabbed down weighed down

white folk being all serious and cliche with their conversation
on this train
black folk laughing
yea…I see you looking…gotta write this poem

I’m telling ya
these commitments
locked up career
locked up love
locked up goals
i gotta fly
I’m making poetry spreading my arms
spinning around my room.
Got my bag of bud in a box in my pocket
gotta glide along the nightline high

I live on a road unseen by anybody
it’s on the other side of here
I live on a tuning fork

 

 

af

 

 

(written with pen on paper)