Leisurely and alone,

I was wandering in the museum garden.

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Flowers were completely gone,

But deep green summer leaves fully grown,

And on each branch

Small birds all the way chirping:

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Certainly for me a perfect afternoon

To be seated still and calm,

To be lost in poem-reciting!

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But suddenly a wind arose

When a human voice caught my ear,

Saying low ye...

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perhaps one day i'l stop with this nonsense
but can you really escape your own fucking conscience?
Think future present past nothing will change unless you make it
when you see your chance you better take it
I should be wathcing the movie i paid to see
not worrying about my family
But unfortunately that's to much leisure
I deny myself that lovely pleasure

Who know's what you just might f...

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I should be focussing on the task at hand

yet i don't because theirs more interesting thing's in my head

i should be watching the movie that i paid to see

but i don't because theirs stuff to worry about

I should enjoy the train ride home listening to music on my phone

but unfortunately that's to much leisure 

i must go back to thinking some more 

Lying awake in bed at night 

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Poetry has many inspections
each line, like thought, re-touched.
We frown at fingered collections
of nouns, and other, stuff.
There are troublesome inflections
and bleeding, wrung-out, verbs,
the wandering explications
of rhymes, the metre, serves.
There are stand alone conjunctions
in hope, that it, amazes,
where
in solitude it functions
in contrived, schematic, phrases.

Words...

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