I’ve been sold on so many things.
But I’m slow.
Too slow.
Too old to be slow.
Might die in 29
if you only give me 30.
Need infinite time
to create infinite art,
but I’m a wasted old man.
Accept my lack of time,
knowing my dreams are
infinitely stupid.
Dream I might write one,
just one, artistic poem, but
while I might finish,
it will never be good,
so I’m at peace
with my infinite inadequacy,
fueling my hopelessness,
but fighting my restlessness,
and putting it away.
.
stillfugue 
#1 by Hudson Howl on July 26, 2013 - 10:28 pm
Thank you Carl for writing my biography. The check is in the mail.
#2 by Carl on July 26, 2013 - 10:31 pm
HAHA! Hudson, you’re too good of a man for me to understand your biography!
#3 by Hudson Howl on July 26, 2013 - 11:02 pm
No not really. Am as wretched and pathetic, just as broken as the next guy.
#4 by clinock on July 26, 2013 - 11:50 pm
Broken too – no check…
#5 by Carl on August 7, 2013 - 6:02 am
Don’t cash my checks!
#6 by Michele Seminara on July 26, 2013 - 11:53 pm
I think pretty much all poets feel this way Carl!
#7 by Carl on August 7, 2013 - 6:02 am
Thank you for your comment, Michele.