Without Remorse

Chops - a little more character poetry

This guy was blowing his sax at a tree in Indian River State Park. The tree didn't seem to care. The guy had come south to escape the cold and the mean streets that inspired his improvised jazz - venting  blues into spongy nature to no apparent purpose. I gathered that he would return to the city to reload, refuel, however he chooses to name it. Meanwhile I was glad for the concert and glad for the inspiration it provided for my own improvised venting.

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CORNBELT

Here is another poemograph. I don't think of myself as a poet because I don't work at being one. I will work my ass off on an individual poem though, like this one. I spent a lot of time on it. I sweat out every word. I continue to tweak it whenever I read it. It gets better and better - at least in my own mind - where I am not really a poet.