forgotten

by wiggly jones, "the little hippie boy"

i wrote a poem in my head a minute later it had fled i guess it pays to write things down at midnight in this silent town was it a poem about a maid by an evil lover betrayed imprisoned in an ivied tower helpless in his pitiless power or just a poem about me and something that i happened to see walking down the avenue feeling, as usual, sad and blue or a poem about a butterfly people write them, i don’t know why about butterflies you can only say you see them, then they fly away unlike the law of gravity which has always haunted me and tied me to reality’s tree because all i want is to be free