Poem: Bushwhacked
by Regis Boff
Poetry is the last thing
that would ever occur to letters.
The words would testify if they could speak
that the process makes them queasy.
Most writers are ashamed to leave
an unintended verse.
Feeling they were bushwacked
while on their way to longer bursts.
But I prefer this short shit,
cause I know the reader will peek.
