Poet’s Trees

Rhymed a couple thoughts together
in the passenger seat,
tapping foot against
the dash,
trying to
outrun my
debtors.

From there I branched
out like
patchwork fenders after
three nights on
a bender in
the woods.

Yeah I’m an
open book,
pages ripped at
the stitching,

plot holes
bitching
all the cops
in
this town
are crooks.

And from
there, I’ve left you, like
autumn gravity
tricks the
leaves-

standing in
the gutter, looking at the
sky for your
presumably
better half,

so I can grasp for the
ground,

imagining
I’ll fly given
paper wings.

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5 thoughts on “Poet’s Trees

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