word on the street

it's funny how sometimes you don't really feel your age. i don't know if it's the fact i'm a poet and don't want to ever grow up and live in the real world or not, but it is like i'm living in some kind of fantasy that most normal people would laugh at or look down on. and i'm looking back down the road i've been on. i dunno. the words flow, tho, and sometimes, for the poet that has to be enough. momentary pleasure of seeing far into the distance. and they're just possible futures and it's dangerous to live there too long but for the poet sometimes you have to just live with that and not think too much about it lest you end up like one of the writers who couldn't handle the stress of living outside of time, of living on the moon and floating through the stars. who am i? the poet yells yet there's no readily available answer that's evident; evidently that's the world of the poet not knowing but seeing, not living but knowing. and some will disagree and say that the poet must live life and experience life, but i reckon that by the time they can drive an auto- mobile they already have enough material to write for 100 years or 10000000000 pages, whichever comes first. the wine makes the whine seem louder somehow and perhaps it isn't good to drink alone in a kitchen at a table but it was good enough for some who came before me in the line of word slingers through- out time - out of time - out of this time - out of this fast time - out of this fast forward time - out of this time this time it seemed different and was different and the difference is, again, in how i, the poet, handle it - not so well - not so good. rambling self- effacing poet- ry who wants i -t really? not me if i'm hon- est and yet the line breaks cause the brakes to lock up as i see again clear and beyond and now and then and then and now and i don't regret it and i must accept it and now and now and now and now i know. never ever give up on the dream, never ever give up on knowing who i am and why i'm here even if it is difficult to accept - except for this my life is meaning- less - the words. more the words than anything.