Poet as Noun
he did not know what else to do
so he wrote
he did not think of it
he did not believe it to be divine
he was afraid of everything else
so he did this one thing
not that he didn’t do other things
but they were all varying responses to fear
attempts to over come
deny
hide from
himself and others
like the first one to do acid
like the first one to not cut his hair
like the first one to get married have a kid get divorced
get arrested go to jail
leave town leave the country
all the while knowing the falseness of bravado
he did not know what else to do
so he wrote
no matter how high
how angry
how lonely enough to believe that god did in fact exist and abandoned him
no matter how much sex
how many lovers
how many miles
how many broken torn up hearts including his own
he did this one thing
and because of this he never needed anyone to tell him who was
yeah they could tell him what he was
bastard
mother fucker heartless bastard
just a kid
a kid in love
a bleeding heart
ignorant liberal
beautiful lover
hackney painter
failed husband
a traveller of foreign lands
a lover a husband a loving husband a loving father
an outlaw of love a dealer of drugs a rider of fast horses across broken unknown terrain
selfish, grifter,
all these were changeable all these mere adjectives
temporary partial descriptions,
the noun he had always been
because he did this one thing
and then one day he stopped
fashion victim
