thoughts on the secret hero in eight versions

by jhon baker

piles of unpublished poetry
and I feel like Emily D.
except there is no song to these

most of the verse written years
ago in a 3rd floor walk-up
an hour from Chicago
there was less between us
and moments were ours
without out knowledge or
at least without yours

if this world was my will
or my idea – this
wouldn’t exist
and maybe never get written

even at 124 mph across Colorado
before Denver

these aren’t poems
not one o’clock moments
of clarity

they are sleepless induced
narcotic psychotropic

I casually wish I still drank

right now
time is passing
but not without memory
and I cannot say it is painful
you cannot call it hospitable either

secret hero of my poetry
where have you gone
what have you been thinking

I cannot question now
as I cannot cope with the answer

x xx
some kind of monster
and I cannot even look in the mirror
around corners
or close my eyes

this is not a poor film
tho we all with it were.

– I wrote this.

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