Where are these people walking?
They are walking in a poem.
But it is not my poem,
so I do not understand it.
And they are walking in twos,
so perhaps it’s not a poem.
A poem is ventured through alone.
I seen a sign, Smile if you masturbate,
so is that a poem?
Only if you smile?
Are you smiling?
Don’t worry, it’s just a poem.
I won’t tell.
If I lived in a poem it would be Ginsberg.
Because I hate Ginsberg.
And these people don’t know the half of it.
Walking, walking, walking.
If they get somewhere,
I guess it’s not a poem.
Unless they get to hell.
I may be overthinking this.
I never understood poetry.
I’m also stuck in a poem
paved by panhandlers.
I seen a sign. I seen too many.
I seen a white sky calling out
our less than good intentions.
But is that a poem?