Friday, February 10, 2012


I hate it when my paying job
Impedes my chance to write
The little bit of poetry
I cobble every night.

But so it is, and so it was,
Today and yesterday.
But what can starving poets do
With massive bills to pay?

And with these little bits of verse
My week must be complete,
And to the warmth of bed and sleep
I think I must retreat.

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