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It's A Living
I dig graves
with pick and shovel
and fits of deranged imagination
from sun-up
every day
'til darkness hovers my shoulders
then, spooked
I scoot
quick as a chicken in the thistles
my invented stories
(I don't whistle)
scare me stupid and spry
my knack for the macbre
may be unmatched
I'm a really creepy guy
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Comments
Kailashana2
Sat, 2011-06-18 08:26
nah, you're just a jealous
nah, you're just a jealous guy. what does that have to do with your poem? absolutely nothing, I just happened to be listening to Lennon.
;-)
love your stuff, Al!