A Poem.

When I was digging through an old sketch book to find the Madonna article on summer heat, I flipped through some of the other pages and came across some funny "poems" I'd written about 10 years ago. Here's one one of them:

the last day of life
for anyone on a farm
makes everyone else
sad.

i think most
guitar players
feel the same
way.

when they daydream
about the same thing
day after day
after day

tentacles on the
inside
twitch and swell
and sway

under the current
movement
we are all meant
to play.

I actually typed this out later and used it in a collage painting. After some consideration about what to do for an image, I decided that silly sketch above complimented the words. Sorta?