Richard Whitlock


I lie with my eyes closed

Listening to my own breath

This is the act of being alive

My head is still foggy from last night

That night we really lived

There was singing and dancing.

Happiness all around.

But now my dance is the raising of my chest

My song, my breath

And it’s another kind of happiness

The happiness of being alive

The novelty of it

Makes me think

Maybe we don’t have it quite so bad

And I spend another morning almost sober

I’m a young Albany poet and musician. With inspiration from beat authors and the disenchanted I play and write.

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