Here is yet another poem about the experience of writing poems, or transcribing them from a muse.
From God Slips To My Years
In what manor
May we discuss the whether
A poet or a stenographer
In plaque-able quest in
Without compare
Those moments that sustain me
From God slips
To my years
On lookers
On occasion see
As putting on
Lipstick on a pig
This dyslexic DOG
That
I AM
What might
We make
Of such posed poems
Parently speaking
In tongues in chic
I can only note
I witness
Each and every won
Blissfully unaware
Of how
We awe
Alliterate in hundreds of languages
Or passably just
One
That we cannot no
Long the weigh
Hope fully
Mirrorly
A diction
Of sum kind
