me, myself and id

he says he says he can’t


what is this write you speak of?
all he knows is how to type
and the keyboard says <-Ba space

he won’t look in the mirror
because then he’d have to describe himself
why would he want to do that?
his eyes are red unlike his paperbacks
his lips are cracked unlike his pages
his mind is open unlike his books

a writer without words?
oh no, he has a very rich something

no poem here
the only thing he knows how to do
is to lie his way through one
is to lie his way to one


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