You Perfect Monument

I’m writing another poem while all alone sitting,
in the poetry room at City Lights.
I sit for an hour or more reading and writing,
on weekends and or weekday nights.

I gave up on love a long time ago,
there is no more left and or ego.
Until someone appears to be my amigo,
I wear the mask of silence where ever I go.

The confluence of influence manifests with the moment,
in something sometimes called perfect time.
The very best way to be your own monument,
is worship each other with words that rhyme.



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