November 20th | "I'll Never Write Again"

Either you're poor
or a bore
or just plain rich
And you know your heart's sore,
but you've still got an itch,

Good luck
my friend,
but you're a wicked witch
in a world of words black as pitch
that cut like a sword right to the very end
and lips as curved as the winding river bend.

 Never again
my friend,
will I write
if you ever turn your cheek on a warm yellow night
for a dreamer who dreams may always lend
their ear to another who dreams and pretends
that life is a box for them to climb in
and suffer forever in rusty old tin.

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