workshop

I thought about writing again,

but then I got a stomach ache,

so I thought;

to hell with it;

besides, what would it prove?

I really don’t care to be

psycho-analyzed,

by some middle aged, mildly attractive,

poet wannabe, named Diane,

searching for meaning in a poem

about women at the dmv,

scrutinizing every line for political

and technical correctness;

I would buy her a drink however;

if I thought there wouldn’t be a test

afterwards;

it is rather amusing though,

to find out there really are people

out there,

attempting to learn how to write

this bullshit,

it makes me wonder if it’s poetry

they’re trying to master;

or life;

because I never saw any difference

between the two.

.

.