stafford forge | the story of my life

i fished for a little while and i didn't catch anything
i will sleep in my pine needle bed
as the breeze lightly blows over me
i will make our bed out of pine needles
i always thought it i lived in (went to) the woods
all of my problems would go away
i have come here to write poetry
feeling sad? write poetry sand? write poetry
pine sap? write poetry smelly shoes, no socks
write poetry mechanical pencil? write poetry
the poet exudes himself? into the forest
he has taken a seat on the floor of the earth
upon such a comfortable covering
he lays his head down
inside New Jersey's living room
of the forest
or what's left of the forest
according to the weather
everything is done according to the weather
in accordance to the sun or the rain clouds
the sound of a splash over by the water
everything is to be done over by the water
throw your cellphone
or whatever device
you keep time by
into the channel
i spied a chipmunk's
tail and thought it
was a squirrel's tail
the story of my life