I don’t want to be another <br />poet, with long hair, wearing <br />a baggy sweater, telling the world <br />old truths with words so used <br />they can’t be in black print anymore, <br />just a tint of gray, with a shaded background <br />(like the photograph I destroyed, <br />not by a touch, but only with a gaze) . <br />so, I’m not a poet, using an old typewriter <br />with the letter “y” jamming constantly, <br />staying up all night talking about <br />metaphysics, politics, and the color of ink. <br />poets. I’m leaving the party before <br />I even arrive.<br /><br />Ivona Sophia<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/decision-after-breakfast/
