I’m currently on Day 3 of Social Distancing and have decided to start writing poems, one for every day I don’t leave the house. They’re rough and unpolished, but who cares. Here’s the first:


My Poetry


Here’s another one.

You won’t take it but you should

place it beneath your feet and dance.

I’ll make another for you to eat

in a famine without a blink.

This art, this poetry, it’s not good,

it’s not supposed to rhyme.

Everything I write is wrong and

rights are wrong, wrongs are right.

Even as the world empties,

as a pandemic tests our very nature,

and art is consumed by all like air,

my art remains unchanged.

Poems aren’t supposed to

make sense the first time

So this one, two, one, too, is terrible

I don’t get it. Let me try again.

Here’s another one.