My Poems

my poems are not mine
they come to me from the void
i am a greedy old man

collecting every word
that falls in to my lap:
an expert at passing a string
through the beads,
i put my craft to use
and string upon string
i weave a web of words
and your fertile imagination
runs through the words
infusing meanings,
i never thought
inferring gospels,
i never wrote