where are you headed
if you want to write
the answer is easy
write
what do you need
safety & shelter
food water sunlight sleep
who will guide you
only me
is there something you are looking for
a degree
a benefactor
a break
stop seeking
you have arrived at this moment
by the nooks and crannies
of your meandering life
things usually don’t work out as planned
lovers leave
sisters jump off bridges
people drink themselves into oblivion
poets and musicians seem to have it the worst
drugs poverty depression loss
what fuels their genius
burns hotter than most for a minute
explodes into space
or crashlands in the dead sea
i am telling myself this now
no nod from the new york times
will make you happy
or set you free
the lottery is a lie
and winners are crushed
so it’s not money
what then
fame recognition a name to leave behind
a body of work
legacy of print-on-demand books
poetry is not selling
i don’t hear a single
large language model
retraining in progress
patience please
student driver
that’s it
student
the lost college years
hallowed halls
hollowed-out old man dying of cancer
freefall
with shakespeare and aa
i didn’t try to make love to his daughter
she was too young
hunter may have tried
but fear and loathing prevailed
i also didn’t try to make it to his class
focused instead on making it through
at all
f
can i retake
no
is there anything
what about student life is imaginary
the college experience i would’ve loved
and what part is nostalgia mixed with hope
i hope i could find recognition
of what
hunter-with-an-s had a ph.d. in journalism
that sounds potent
is it the added letters behind your name
or something deeper
unsoothable
i say hello at this time
with a statement i’ve polished into a mantra
from the mfa lead at a local university
23 years ago
if you want to write
write
the degree is a lie
the jobs don’t exist for mfa graduates
iowa success rate is less than 1%
keep your day job
make time to sit in the chair
and write
i really could’ve used a friend mentor teacher
the community of writers
as i suspect is part of the dream
yes
i still know hunter from oxford
he’s in real estate
looks our age
still boisterous and warm
and focused on growth
i would like to be focused on less
noise-canceling headphones not needed
capitalization unnecessary
i
always small
i
write
this
as a love letter
*i am here* < index page
© 2023 – a walt whitman ai poem by human john mcelhenney
