written by Dave Nielsen
I’m not even forty and my soul
is almost evaporated.
My teeth hurt.
And my gums.
It’s a face almost no one
could love.
These poets with twelve books of poetry
must have a crapload to say.
Or the holy spirit just talks to them a lot,
whispering in their ears
the words that crack like fire.
Or maybe they’re so full of it
their pants are sagging.
Me, I swear I’ll stop at five,
seven books tops.
You, whom I have never met, thank you
for being there in my imagination
when I needed you.
Thank you for the thoughtful expression
on your face
once in a while
as I spit.
Ramblr Magazine 