Bob Who


The underbelly of thought

When you’re taken from

Word to a sentence

Burnt weenies grillin

A combo

with a cherry champ

digression is


Just enough


To inhale

Finger nails


Signs of work

The knight road

His horse with

High Intentions

While the word

Sticks it’s head

Into the ground

The Ostrich Syndrome never works

To suffer

Is worst


The cure

Eyes just

A buggin

And your

Face gone Red

The art of the


Is only part…….

The rest comes

In time

When your face

Is slapped

That’s how

A poem is

The word






2 thoughts on “Bob Who

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