I don't have time for this
I don't have time to write
twisted meaningless verse
I don't have time for rhyme schemes
I don't have time for iambic pentameter
don't have time for fooling around
don't have time for spell check
(c'mon fingers push the right keys
make it happen)
don't have time to be Keats
Shelley Byron
don't have time for romance
I don't even have time to seduce
listen to risque jokes talk like a fool
I don't have time to paint the house
cut my lawn cut my hair
walk the dog
I don't have time for this
I don't have time to make amends
tell you I am sorry
we can make this work
that we were to last forever
it's meaningless
and I don't have time
I don't have time for an affair
prayer meditation deliverance
suggestion or hope...
not even I dimes worth
I have got to write while the muse whispers in my ear
get it down figure it all out later
I am getting to damn old to wait
friends my age are dying off
(will I be next?)
I have to write get it down get it out
before my time runs out
before death notices me
or before I am sitting in home somewhere
where a nurse calls me by my name
and I don't know who I am
hoping that my pants stay dry
and wondering what's for supper
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem