Poetry

Dear Fonzie,

When I was a baby poet I wrote lots of things and a very few of them wrote themselves into the rafters of my skull.  One is:

It is in the early  morning 

that I love to hear them scream

for their hearts screech out their wicked lies 

with lips and tongues serene.

Most things I wrote that I couldn't get out of my head I respected for that reason and put them in poems but this seemed like youthful rage and I never did.  I did recently.  But I post this here because it was in my head again.