Pen to paper. Fingertips to keyboard.
Like thousands, millions, billions high primates before.
A boon, a propitiation to no one around.
I choose not to go numb, though stumbling clumsy and thick.
And frowning at what has been scrawled or tapped more often than smiling.
But I choose to try. To last.
2 comments
Nice poem! You will last, my friend!! On another note (a high pitched violin note, that is), did you think I wouldn't notice joan.as.police.woman? Well, I did, and her violin playing grates as bad as her stupid voice and persona. If I had a sparkly violin, could I tour with Rufus? That must be it, cause lord knows, it ain't her "talent."
She has a great profile, though. Sympathies extended to the backup singer standing next to her. All. Tour. Long.
Wonder how gold paint and glitter affect acoustics?