“You re that guy who writes those poems
The crazy ones
The good ones
The ones everyone loves
You’re the one who writes the funny shit
The heartbreaking shit
That redemption shit
That cold reality shit
That hot sex shit
That rock n roll hip hop punk soul shit
What do I do?
What does it take?
How do I learn?
Can it be taught?
Who do I study?
You’re that guy
who does what I want to do
writes like I want to write
How can I be like you”
He asked me
“and do what you do?”
“Well if you’re going to
set yourself on fire
You’ve got to be ready to burn.
Poetry is found in the ashes of all other futures set to blaze
And with ink from puddles of blood
Poured from the spurting necks of slaughtered dreams
Poetry is all that’s left
When death claims everything
That ever was
And everything that could ever be
Poetry is the nothing
That fills the space of everything
And everyone left behind”