Starting Over
March 27 2024
You can always start over.
Burn it down.
Write it off.
Leave it behind,
receding in the rear view mirror.
Which you did;
time after time
picking yourself up off the floor
just to get knocked down again.
But
eventually
— eyes blackened,
bloodied badly,
and punch drunk
from too many hits —
you’ve had enough
and throw in the towel,
tap out,
run up the white flag.
You resort to cliches,
and screw originality.
Because life is short
and your life force
is inexorably ebbing away.
After all, not every poem
can hit it out the park,
every metaphor
remain unsullied.
Tomorrow, I’ll write more.
But for now
I’m phoning it in,
taking the path of least resistance,
resting on my laurels.
With a defiant what-the-hell
scorning pedantry
and mixing metaphors.
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