I am an artist, I just want to make.
If I said I was in PR I’d be a fake.
Who wants to manufacture distribute and sell?
To me that’s Hell.
What price the Liberty Bell?
So almost no one knows of me or my output, my work, my art.
My breaking heart.
I don’t want to cry on your shoulder, I might shrink your collar.
Can you spare a dollar?
Nothing is free, not even me.
I am unwritten history.
I will have to learn to swim sometime.
Doing nothing is a crime.
I speak metaphorically of course, I’m a poet, not a horse.
Some idiot asked do I not know how to swim, that’s Michael O’Brien, that’s him.
Can I get anything into anyone’s thick head?
I’ll keep trying until I’m dead.
By swim I meant come down to Earth, get in the swim of things.
Knock on doors, try bell rings.
Must I speak simply as if everyone is a dope?
Including myself and the Pope.
11th September, 2017