..
this poem is tired.
it was all wired up and ready
to go, until it ran out of self
of
steam.
it’s a mean
little sucker
with teeth,
suckling sleep
-ily at
a whole lotta
nothin’.
this poem used
to be somethin’
with wings, until
it got plucked
and shucked
and gunked
up by phrase
-eee-ol
-ogy.
this poem is a scar.
(no, wait: a star)
burned
(out)
too soon, swooned low
by a rising crimson sky.
this poem has no sense
of place, no where
or how or why. it’s
just hanging around
waiting for one last good
………………bye.
.
Whimsygizmo's Blog 
I like this feisty one! Esp. the “eee-ol – ogy! Like a little toddler!
“-ily at a whole lotta nothin’.” = I lie at a whole lotta nothin’.
“this poem is a scar.
(no, wait: a star)”
It is such a fine line between the two, isn’t it? And a poem is a gem one day and trash the next … to the poet, at least.
I feel as tired as this poem..wishing my words would arrange themselves on the page so you could read them,
As always, I love your words.