I read a poem that made me think, I cannot write a poem at all.
It made my words just birds ramming into windows,
it made my ideas just fists busting into walls.
No, seriously, it was quite good.
It was thought out in metaphor and each piece lead to the next
I realized I have a far way to go
to lift the sideways steam engine
from the Kansas plains
and remove the debris from the prairie
and find beaty in the
sundrenched metal
and find soul in the
tipped over coal
in this
train wreck.
