I Am Not A Poet

I don't even know what Slam Poetry is
Words take wings
like birds with bricks in their claws
ready to drop bombs
knock me on my ass
birdy in the sky

Life is sex with the world
and I am a virgin
I had no vision quest
I had EverQuest
Don't know the secret to happiness
Do know the secret to infinite lives
I know the secret to sadness.

One stanza, Two stanza
Good stanza, Bad stanza
I am not a poet
I write thoughts and think rights
Rhythm and rhyme rock the mind
What I think does not go with itself
Or make sense from apple to orange

Once I took the road everyone travelled by
On that road I was mugged, beaten, and broken
I'll trek through the woods, off the trail
Branches beating at my face
Wolves circling at the shadows
Just to reach again the road less travelled by.

Story Spill: Pop (1)

My spills are when I write without much context and plan to rework and place the "spill" into a larger piece and connect with other parts later.

Greg had a good day, because Greg didn't hand anyone a burger that day. Even a job that barely pays the bills is better when you have less of it. Waking up for lunch was the perfect way to start his day. Greg went out for a burger for lunch. He paid his work move for a ten minute meal than they paid him for two hours of work the day before.

BOXES

My Favorite Desktop

I've been doing some work helping my wife get her jewelry store ready online. Meanwhile, the creative air got me going and I pulled out the new sketchbook Mom bought me for the holidays. I drew what I saw.