A book of rhymes finds it's sunshine

in the back street of my mind.

Decides deciduously to shed shackles

like leaves of limitations, and a pen

punches out first principles

and punctuates the playfulness of

my phrases, yes,

writing is loss of indentity, trying

up trademark tunes and impregnating the wombs of

imagination with godlike inspirations.

Meaning, breathing, seeming to be bleeding

but leading right back to the beginning:

A book of rhymes finds its sunshine

in the back street of my mind.

Decides deciduously to shed shackles

like leaves of limitations, but

all you can see is that I'm

not paying attention

in your

class.