It repeats
words like
things
that have no rhyme
or reason
to keep reading,
because it says
nothing,
has no
structure,
or sounds like
Shatner
narrating
every thought
you never voice.
I'd rather take myself to the yard,
throw this book in the fire,
then set my feet
on ground that is not concrete.
That's the way to My Place,
where trees waver in a breeze and I can find a seat on a log stretched like a bridge across a creek.
Join me?
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Alternative title: Poetry Class Frustrations
4/5/2018
