Wednesday, October 19, 2011


I'm caught up in the iterates of things
I live a life of constant interruption
But one must meditate on beauty lest
One's poetry degrades into corruption

I can't reflect upon the beauty of
My daughter or my son
My rhymes have lately failed to catch the love
Of my wife that I won

I rush
To work
My work
I love
Is in-
Ted verse
And thought

I write this poem here at work and though
It's early morning almost two this work
Has already been interrupted twice
This broken verse of a hotel desk clerk


It's not what I could write
If I had time to think
On beauty in the night
My art is out of sync

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