Buffalo bones

Alone,
I write poetry and perform on my own
honing my skills and if it kills me,
let it.

What use to me the audience?
the polite applause is an
inconvenience.

I need the solitude to magnify
the things that flit through
my minds eye.

But the readers feed me
as I bleed into them
ink from the tip of the
ball point pen.

Curse me then and
if you dare
perform
for the audience
you seek out there.

I need none
I perform
alone on the stage
I call my home
honing​ my skill
until
it kills me.

© 2016, John Smallshaw.