This poem was about to have no title.
As I write this, I don't know what I'll write.
I contemplate its format. Do I use proper punctuation?
I usually don't. But perhaps today is different.
After all, anything can happen.

Just like -
Earlier today,
I stepped in a pile of shit.
You know what they say?

Later on,
A pigeon shit on my shoulder

It doesn't matter what I say in this poem.
Or any poem. Because there is always a bottom line.
A usual theme.
You know what it is.
He knows, she knows, you all know.
That I love her.

But, according to recent realizations by a select few,
it has been determined that I, the author of this poem,
or is it a poem?, hasn't met her yet.

But that doesn't matter. Because I wrote this.
Anything can happen.
And it doesn't matter.
Because no matter what anything is happening,
I still love you.


© 2006 David Greg Harth
06.10.18.14:13:44@205HudsonNYC