Another Pile of Shit
I am not my poem, I am not my words,
I am a spiritual entity, manifested in physical form
My work is my excess, my glorious fodder;
my spiritual shit. Glorious though, some of this shit may
be, it is but a glimpse of the awesomeness of being;
the untold presence felt when near; the jowel shaking
laughter and the moments of joyous reverie; the frustrated
“what-the-fuck” when I, often, act a fool.
I am complicated, I am real, I am Kyle
Hitchhiker 