knew
his poems
weren’t going to change anything
or
move anyone,
but
he kept on writing,
even when
the bills came due,
his
friends gave up
and the
dust on the table
was thick enough for him
to lick his finger and write his name.
knew
his poems
weren’t going to change anything
or
move anyone,
but
he kept on writing,
even when
the bills came due,
his
friends gave up
and the
dust on the table
was thick enough for him
to lick his finger and write his name.