Fortunately, there is no lack of subjects that I wish to blog about. But having missed posting this past Wednesday, I present you with a very recently written poem:
This gaping wallet in my hand
so fully spent not coin remains
and oh how sweet the where and when
continue still to sustain.
Such artifacts that I collect
serve but to jog at memory
which shelters, clear of moth or dust
or rust, in what is yet me.
A lust for mansions, vessels, cars,
for pockets bulging ready cash,
the pace and ease of luxury,
once held me, meat in it’s grasp.
Now, victim of commercial gain
abandoned by the banker’s dole
I am reborn, I disobey,
and singe the road as I go.