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Parroted speach
I can write an the words accumulate into sentences,
an the paragraphs become pages of material.
An for what?
What do these words
set down here entail,
what do they become
if not simply the fluff
an feather from an ego that meant to fly,
an when it didnt , grew impatient, &
began to mult the words that fell,
to land upon the pages
in artistic ways.
So much so it is called poetry.
Something to be enjoyed, an read again an again
as if the accidental creation didnt happen that way at all.
In fact it was all written on purpose.