by Jerry Ratch
Hanging out at the
Imaginary Friends Café
with all my imaginary friends,
poets, itinerant musicians, etc.
Writing close to nothing.
Can't finish a thought,
so I'm composing a book called
“Not Quite Haiku,”
which is unfinished, of course.
It will be required reading
for all my make-believe friends
if they want to keep speaking to me.
Keep going, they said.
Try to finish at least one sentence.
But they are impossible to satisfy.
And hope is not a political solution.
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