I do, and you should visit my blog, as long as you’re mindful that no category is any less important, well maybe Site Issues—unless, you too find poetry in the absurd.
He shouts in a mad pirouette
But, of course you know that
You shadowy judges
That hold my fate in skeletal fingers
I am to trust!
Look, here, you points
All you waving fingers here
Are to
Mindfully observe the path
and give me the respect
of reconstruction.
You are workers with blueprints
You are to build!
Your message is too long
or maybe it’s the number of rings
it takes
to get through
If someone made a pen for you
With a copper bezel
Then it would make copper
Halos in harsh shadows
When you wrote in Texas sun
You could spin the pen and imagine
exploring space as Saturn’s rings gave way to the universe
At certain angles an old album plays
its ridges hinting of earth.
Stick
Found
Cut
Stained with coffee grounds
Soaked in mineral oil
A hole drilled for leather strap (optional)
because you are a poet
and I love you
and I know you love words
are what to you?
images
sounds
a long canyon with brown walls
vanishing to a speck
How about a cross section of blue
would it wave
would stars come out
Or are words an interpretation of
a shadowy tempest
that follows you around
swirling with symbols
that hint at
your instantaneous self
Do you reach in
and arrange these
runes
and pressures
into an ancient sentence
that glows while dancing
Do words make that make sense?
