Sometimes I listen to my poetry and all I can hear is an echo. Someone wrote and spoke the poem before I did. So much for speaking my truth to power…all I do is echo the truth someone else spoke before me. I’m a parrot.

Dumb cluck bird
don’t let him anywhere near
a notebook.

Any word he says is likely stolen.
He saw the shiny and lifted it,
tucked it under his wing.

Watch your poetry —
I’ll take it and pretend
I believe in your truth.

No point in continuing this, i’m just a copyist,
the blanker the page, the better.