Oh! I need this and I need that,
maybe like Ella, need some scat.
I donít have much, but what I own,
The Hovel keeps it in its zone.
My soul has been giving me fits,
Enough so that my teeth does grit.
It says to get rid of it all,
And just sit here in barren walls.
My soul says then I will be free,
And live in abject poverty.
Well, hellís bells, whatís that all about,
Making the grand gesture to flout?
No! I refuse the cold turkey poor,
So my soul can be my voyeur.
I have been thinking of a change,
Might even take another name.
Iím fraught with mental exercise,
I descend to lows, then to highs.
Thinking existentially gray,
Like Sartre and good old Genet.
That thought lasted about a day,
A gloomy philosophy, hey!
So here I sit looking around,
To The Hovel and Zoe Iím bound.
I have found peace and that is good,
I never ever thought I would.
©January 15, 2017 / Jerry Pat Bolton
~ If they give you ruled paper, write sideways. ~