On the Cover
No cover covers my face laces up my profile tightly
In an unsolicited article in a dust jacket of fame peddling print
I heard of others fame but never heard
Myself being called the same
I am only called by my name
A name leftover from my forefathers
I don’t care about the famous with
Their fake names and fake faces
Mine is real, real old, real smudged
I don’t have a fake identity that
Lights up people’s faces when they
Hear these names as if they are dear relatives
With a greater worth than themselves
And the randomness continues as more thoughts
Roll out like from a printer cache
Fold themselves neatly into stacks
Like shirts in a Chinese Laundromat
poem by R. Schemmerer
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