Parking Lot Poet
May 25th, 2015 by thegooddoctor in 100 Words
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I sit and think.
Of what, I’m not sure. As this mind has tendencies to wander. Wanting perfection, but tending to squander.
As the ideas flow as dam water, next thing you know you’re down the river. I gasp, adrenaline flows to capture the shore. Just to be able to hold to one original idea.
I sit and think.
In ways of harnessing this cursed gift, since frustration foreclosures many of them before they leave the pen. In a sense I’m the hopeless poet I so ironically created. The oxymoron of a poet’s life sitting in a empty parking lot.
From Guest Contributor UInk Poetry
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