Hearts are nice, but I can’t live
In one. Inspiration might feed
Your soul; my stomach still sings
Epic ballads of the glory of past
Meals eaten. At night. It is hard
To sleep on a mattress on the floor.
Cold air tumbles; my throat has
Sprouted ice crystals. This 12×12
Lifestyle has kept me boxed in.
I like to consider myself a lucky one.
I have no mouth, and I must scream!
If I had a mouth, I would say:
“Pay the fucking writer.”

Copyright 2012
A. J. Hayes
Give a poet a pen