NaPoWriMo Day 15 : Château Libertas

Dear Words

Why could I not become a drummer? Instead I am words trapped in sentences trapped in similes trapped in a Mouth which utters nothing.

I think it wise to be a drummer.

I am a poem who wants a drink, a two-thousand and ten Château Libertas to drink my metaphors away.

And in the morning I will have a haiku-over.

I will barf up some sonnets and start gobbling down on sestinas.

I will then lie on my bed as I cover myself with verbs

I always fall at 4 am and awaken with allusions

There is a naked poet that is always following me

I think.

I am not good at writing letters to myself

I digress.

I should have been a drummer.

I digress.