I look out the window
at the snow on the ground
pristine in the new year
Not a single footprint
oh wait there is a path
a dirty little trail
Terrific let me start
again as I wonder
what else hides in plain sight
Endless lists come to mind
but I won't bother you
with the details I fear
Lists and people who make
such lists as control freaks
but of course such labels
Limit my openness
to unknown adventures
with people I've not met
In this lifetime at least
okay so I am lying
to forget my past life
Given that my ex-wife
and my last therapist
both made lists without fail
Endless lists to relax
to check off or strike out
problems solved brought to light
Notwithstanding the lines
that remain without mark
laughing in insolence
Crap I too used to make
these self-satisfying
lists long ago fables
Endearingly record
my vinyl collections
a teen without a fret
Granted I was anal
as fuck back in the day
still am to scan my strife
Under forty-eight years
of mindless oppression
my mind against itself
Insanity reveals
itself in many forms
mine is eighteen lines long
Talent remains hidden
unless I hone my craft
sharp without arrogance
Art of course shows conceit
as metaphors lack pride
full of wit gaining wealth
Regardless just how poor
a poet is my verse
grows bold from weak to strong
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