On my 25th birthday, my soon-to-be wife gave me a leather notebook for me to write in (mainly for poetry). By this time in my life, my interest in poetry was waning but what ended up being written in the journal was bad, even by my standards. Here are two decent ones from the little book:
I am a sound wave
I travel according to the vibrations in the air.
I bounce off walls and into your ears
but the primordial question still persists...
if no one ever hears me...
did I ever exist?
night of mist
after the lights are out
no-where in no-town
out-side
moon-rise
the birds have all flown back their nests
I'll fight in a double-blind in a run-away loop
I'll slip-out escape - so-what?
good-bye.
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