pope with a home, outside of church
2026-07-29
some things get old.
complaining about the same old things,
don't you ever change?
when dumbfounded take a step back,
retrace your aim for another shot,
i am dumbfounded, instincts, impulses,
not all need following, some things get old
so does this rhyme engine kicking in mid-flight
it's not purely to impress a reader,
fuck-a-reader
to lead you need a crystal clear vision
statement summed
they look at you like give me some
but my statements don't make a poem,
or a prose or a complete work,
they abruptly finish i'm left asking for more,
i envy writers, me, i'm not one,
used by god, it gets hard,
performance i'm accustomed to, showing a glimmer of him,
make non-believers believe, i'm good at it,
but at the end of the day i'm what i retreat to,
this equation i need to be a part of,
put god at the doorstep, i'm home but i'm homesick.
how do you want to read?
poems can unravel themselves as you read, line by line, at a considered pace — or just sit there, fully visible, like normal.
change this anytime — look for “reading: …” near the top of any poem.