some days

some days I feel unstoppable, 
and a story or a poem
comes with the greatest of ease.
I can make
Kerouac
Ginsberg
Shakespeare
look foolish
illiterate
unworthy of my presence,
their words pointless as all hell
the second I flip open
this crappy machine.
some days I can turn a simple
walk to the store
into a decent poem
or even a story,
and I laugh at all the others
who try so hard
to write something incredible,
using references
from the bible
or eastern philosophy
when all I did was take the
barking dogs
the honking cars,
the gurgling garbage trucks
and perpetual sirens
and mold them into something
special,
something to be proud of.
then there are the days like today,
when I feel like a fraud,
someone who
once in a while gets lucky,
and doesn’t deserve
to lick the crap
off their oldest pair of
shoes.

 

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