The Quixote Project

She grips my wrist to spin diction.



Like all the monumental men did before me,



that played their tunes and laid down their fiction.



Let me begin by sending my deepest opinion.



The poet is a direct descendent of the great



galvanized inspiration of muse descended.



All words are merely repentance for the chosen poets and truly genuine.



Like Walt Whitman.



Dancing a jig across the suspension bridges



of Camden to Philadelphia and back again.



Or maybe the likes of Lord Byron.



Whom wooed his women with the limping



wisdom of westward images.



But we are all just images.



Simple concepts written with pens and paper



to create a greater vision.



We are the substance with-in tradition.



We are the present, we are the powerful.



And I pay homage to the poets whom know.



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