Cliche

I have evolved into a cliche;

starving artist no less.

That’s what happens when

you don’t get with the program,

when you avoid the traps of men,

when you try to live free.

I don’t blame myself or anyone.

I chose my life, I’m luckier than most.

It looks like I’ve painted myself

into a corner, death looming as only option.

Tell me, does anyone get out of this alive?

I’ll write a few more poems before I go.

Is that a good enough reason to stick around?

You tell me.

People read my blog from all over the world.

I wish I knew a few of them.

Maybe a rich one would help me?

Not many poets are patronized.

The state of the arts in America is a grim reminder.

Bread and circuses is all people see.

Is dis a civilization?

You could have fooled me…

but you didn’t.