75 YEARS HOT
somebody must be listening to the voice of reason
excess seems to be the new balance on the road to ruin
believe it or not, but I was issued wings
during my tenure as a novice poet
I would make even Icarus jealous
pride can put me behind the eight ball
I keep my swelling genius under wraps
my wings have no wax or feathers
there is an AI composite that has sent me
on my way to the top of an interior universe
I traded in Covina for a sparkling Pasadena
I traded in literary research for public library resolve
it is time to plow up padlocked chapters on creation
I believe in my shaky steps toward more hot years ahead
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