Between being told what is mine and what is not, what I’ve done and what I forgot because I don’t know it, I think I’ll go enjoy a vice instead of forego it.
Minutes go by. Maybe I did. Probably I didn’t. I should just sit still another minute instead of saying what’s on my mind to cause mental pain for people I live with.
That is why I always go to the limit of what I know at the start of a poem and end it in a story, to always take a line and always have it rhyme, to be its own thing, never a performance.
I make poetry for people to sound out the words because I am just like them when I grab an angry pen I don’t understand as much as I pretend to know about myself beforehand.
But it’s me giving meaning and understanding, sharing words without a podium. It’s me planting words because we will grow from them.
I think I’ll forego an angry vice and continue to create stories, philosophize and rhyme. There is nothing more integral, more nice than giving up my time for carnival rhymes and social mores.
Francis Erich McElroy 