November Poem 9: The Creeping Vines of Verse

I needed to write for my daughter and

The blood on the porthole that was covered

In Neosporin. But that style of

Writing comes from the black volcanic beach

Sand in the decorated card that I

Always keep in my vest pocket on the

Days that I feel the need to dress well. But

When real men come down to real writing it

Is time to get some man style robot-

Suit sleep to calm the clink and chunk offered

By impulse sensibilities. Sure I

Could brainstorm a stand of trees that clicked pay

Now on the creeping vines of kudzu in

Autumn nights, but who has  time for all that?

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