I’ve got hundreds of poems

maybe thousands

bad poems 

lines that hang

rhyme schemes who never cooperated

they’re all saved on my machine

with defective titles

spelling errors

they might have had legs

some of them

only they wilted

like neglected houseplants

or limped 

like lame animals

I have found no better way 

to put them down

out of their misery

prayed over

hung from the rafters

allowed to bleed out

fertilize ground 

for the next spring 

more good nights

and a healthy stock

of bad poetry