Tuesday Poems
That's Me
The nuttinesses
hidden away in little things I write and dream
are nuggets of salvation
I'll never give them up.
All my strange theories which hung
together out of childish reveries.
I wont give them up. I love them.
I mean, nutty theories hold a special kind of
broken truth, truth with error, fact with question.
Then somebody came to the door
walked in when I opened it
and said, "is anybody here."
I was saying yes yes who are you
and you can't just walk in here.
The tv was on but the picture was blurry.
Then somebody passed by all I had on display
without seeing, preferring reference to a book
that told him who is real.
They have real reputations I know.
Then somebody looked around and seeing
an empty room left without speaking.
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