Impulsive Writing (20)

A Poet’s Epitaph

He brushed his teeth
with a hacksaw until
he had no smile.

Then drove his buggy
with a tiny whip until
he’d walked a mile.

There were other things
he might have done to
dust his hands of sense.

But that he felt was
quite enough to gain
eternal recompense.

May God rest his pen
‘neath winged Seraphim

6 comments on “Impulsive Writing (20)

  1. That’s I think is the trouble If You cover your face with all those feathers you can not see where the hell you are going nor can you shave in a mirror so you accidentally bump your head and cut your throat and write gibberish


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