A crazed poet

I went for a little walk

stopped to view a red cone-head

when a crazed poet

asked if I write anything.

I replied, of course

got down off my imaginary horse

spit in the wind and grinned

while taking in the beauty

of him.

As the drama unfolded

I recited Longfellow in Spanish

just so he would understand

how difficult it is to write

without a pen.

I finally stopped rambling

just long enough to explain

it takes years of pain

to write anything.

burn baby burn

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