Hoc Etiam

I write poems
Because
Long works
Drain me

To think wit’s soul
Is brevity

But in books
A plot mechanizes,
Every poem is up
To interpret

And some see
What they want to,

Clearly,

And everybody
Who reads my poems
Walks away with
A reflection

Is there music in
Rhymes or ciphers

Sometimes
I waste time
And then
Try later

After my mind decides
How to write it

And there it is
As a savage burn
A sprint to see
Who’s closest to figuring

I am
Radio Reality City

It doesn’t matter
What I mean
When I write a...