Monday, January 31, 2005

why do i write?

why do i feel the necessity to write?

express myself?
kill time?

suddenly i feel all the above mean the same shit!

i ll talk later!


  1. Why do I read poetry
    Let alone write
    When I have no nigger at my feet
    Awed by the sight

    Of my extreme brilliance
    And such experience substitutes
    To subtly praise, adore
    And feign participation with refutes

    My soul's always been strapping
    I've never sought poetry for it
    The Purpose then perhaps
    Is staging a parade of wit

    Shakespeare, Frost and Auden
    All my favourite pimps
    When I've thought my way past senility
    I shan't give them a glimpse

    Why would I read poetry, when
    I'm an isle to myself
    Me and the guy upstairs
    Have other ways to bridge the gulf