Call me poet for
I wander lost byways
Of mortality and mind,
Gathering cast off
Images and impressions,
Stowed away willy-nilly
In the pack upon my back
Where a genie resides
Transmuting piles of
Fleeting flowing realities,
Binding them to print,
Random words pretending
To be poetry.
Donovan Baldwin
There's no pretending about it!
This is a very fine poem.