Parachute

Parachute



Bleeding ink
need to bleed words.
Need to finish my book--
November bled to April
but poems keep
oozing out.

Only wrote eight poems
last year. Over thirty this. Thus far.
Need sentences, paragraphs
and chapters.
Yet here
I am- masquerading as a poet.

A day ahead--poetry wise;
falling behind on
everything else.
But the poems keep
taking flight.
Only hope for soft landings.