Fake
(dedicated to a good, dead poet)
I`m not a real poet
not like she is
she can spin words
I can only put them in place
like bricks
like Leggo
a kid banging square pegs
where they don't want to go
She gives you an idea and lets you bounce off it
leaving it up to you where you want to land
Me?
I can rhyme and play around with metered time
and rhythm
working with that discipline
I often loose the meaning
and the reason
why I started in the first place
Her words skip and trip
and dance from her lips
mine are regimented into place
You - go there, you have to
Hers don't have to go anywhere
they hang in the air
free floating
an essence
of essential meaning
like dreaming
It sometimes takes a while
to see what she's saying
her words are playing
whereas mine
are always fighting
more ........