Agoraphobia

The words of Kerouac linger in my ears,
If I do nothing, nothing does.

Riding through the suburb of yesteryears,
The box on the back is concealing beers,
The bike chain slips as I’m changing gears,
The words of Kerouac linger in my ears.

The warm smell of colitas,
Nothing stays as it once was,
The highway noise is just a buzz.
If I do nothing, nothing does.

I wrote this for my Creative Writing Inquiry class, this is the first manifestation of it. Hopefully I’ll change it around and in a week it’ll be way better. This type of poem should be called a Glossa, but my info was wrong and it ended up being some unique modification of it.

Anyway, thoughts?
Be critical,
Bryan

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  1. Interesring bit of poetry…thanks for sharing it.

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