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| Image by SOCIAL CUT on Unsplash |
i'll write, all right
i'll flash the torchlight in search of Jupiter
twenty-nine days and still no sign
I'll write, all right
just a crumb chance and i wonder
how my wits would hold up
oh, i'll write, all right
my last ego decimation trick up my sleeve
i'll write until i'm twenty-three
somehow the counting gets to me
it don't matter how many chords yet to stroke
the notes are everywhere, just like stardust
for the briefest moment there i thought i had me fooled
words, numbers and music will save me; sweepstakes
(wish it wasn't my last card minding the steps; checkmate)
it could be a brook or a river i have to ford
if i don't make it across, i'll build me a palace
at the bottom, with a stuffed fireplace and a winery
i'll write about heaven and the smell of vanilla
how the race to the mountaintop is not unfamiliar
so these poems will be all that's left when i'm done
i'll write, all night
till i've used up all my dry runs and the batteries
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