No Poet

I’m not really a poet
I’m anti-gravity
I’m stale mashed potatoes and gravy
I’m what’s left out
After your last pay check
I’m the last words your wife says
Before she kicks you out
I’m the bum you most want to avoid
Nah, I ain’t no poet
I’m the lamplight the city always
Forgets to fix
I’m smallpox
I’m aphasia
I’m that feeling you have
After bad sex
My rhymes are epileptic seizures
My metaphors and similes
Lost airport baggage
I’m a fucking mess
Don’t read me
But please

Pay for my dinner


Dan Corjescu teaches at the University of Tübingen's "Studium Professionale" program. Read other articles by Dan.