a poetry anthology Riq Lert
where i’m from you ask where i’m from i come from a time where either there’s no such thing as spare time or everything's spare time   i come from a time when i was the car now i’m riq i come from a time where i swing to stay afloat now i point i am me but every day’s new and i am made of every other me i’ve ever been. if you want to know where i’m from look how i got from then to now there to here   you’ll know
he's coming the knives are exposed two lasers look me in the eye a bouncing ball of death comes my way two rows of spikes see me the creature is a lion, a jaguar inside outside its a cat phil has come to play phil
you can write a poem about anything you tell me that i can write a poem about anything      wrong    you think i could write a poem about a rusty, ragged, rickety old bike who has no owner or home     wrong    you think i could write a poem about that book over there just chillin’ on the shelf ready to pounce on the innocent passerby coercing them to read  wrong    you think i could write a poem about little kids running around together laughing, smiling laughing   wrong    i don’t know anything about poetry i couldn’t tell you what a stanza was if you asked no-one ever told me what a metaphor was and this poem doesn’t even rhyme   if you think i can write a poem about anything   you are wrong
 

Riq Lert

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    where i’m fromyou ask where i’m from i come from a time where either there’s no such thing as spare time or everything's spare time   i come from a time when i was the car now i’m riq i come from a time where i swing to stay afloat now i point i am me but every day’s new and i am made of every other me i’ve ever been. if you want to know where i’m from look how i got from then to now there to here   you’ll know
  • 3.
    he's coming theknives are exposed two lasers look me in the eye a bouncing ball of death comes my way two rows of spikes see me the creature is a lion, a jaguar inside outside its a cat phil has come to play phil
  • 4.
    you can writea poem about anything you tell me that i can write a poem about anything      wrong    you think i could write a poem about a rusty, ragged, rickety old bike who has no owner or home     wrong    you think i could write a poem about that book over there just chillin’ on the shelf ready to pounce on the innocent passerby coercing them to read  wrong    you think i could write a poem about little kids running around together laughing, smiling laughing   wrong    i don’t know anything about poetry i couldn’t tell you what a stanza was if you asked no-one ever told me what a metaphor was and this poem doesn’t even rhyme   if you think i can write a poem about anything   you are wrong
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