Poorly Versed Musings At 4 Am Poem by Bryan Alexander

The lines fall out of
my head onto these
pages where nothing once was
I bend them and make them
my own
but they trap me
beneath these pages
and the lines become bars
to my prison cell
Bukowski (great man that he was)
says if you have to show someone
your work you aren't ready
maybe he was right
or maybe he was
just an
a** hole
Ill shout my feeble words
until my voice is hoarse
and the nonsense in my
head
makes sense