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"well, I'll tell you,
it's a lonely road
with little help / for wealth or fame
but I do think
if it's in you
you can't deny it.
I have to / swing with it.
It's like
you go go go!
until you're asking yourself
Why? and
you suddenly need someone
lots of them
to tell you
"You're already
doing it!"
keep
going going going!
until you're gone;
is all―
I don't know."
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I find the question is the kind of thing my mind does instead of writing. But I found when travelling I was confronted with the question "Why travel?" and had to answer it beucase I was/am part of the travel. Same with writing. I travel through lack of imagination. I couldn't imagine Senegal, so I went there. I suspect my reason for writing is similar. I liked this little poem. I liked its homely diction and the humility in the last line.
