≡ Menu

The Trouble with Words

fountain-390028_640
Sometimes a riddle
glassy feelings born
of a particular force of breath
floating iridescence
that pops on fingertips
fragile
transient

Sometimes a cricket
sound heard
maker hidden
in dewed shadow
of moss and fern
somewhere
nowhere

Sometimes a dissident
refusing to be hewn
defiant middle fingers
all horn and thorn
the hardest button
ice
steel

Sometimes a wound
old cries that quietly ache
fresh blood let from memory
victims of endless first aid
an injury that won’t heal
pain
pain

Sometimes a lover
drawn in lips and hips
like a breath on her neck just below the ear
like a hand resting on the small of her back
the throaty pitch of pleasure
lust
passion

Sometimes prose is a barren lure
Sometimes they only perch on a poet’s song

{ 0 comments… add one }

Leave a Comment

Next post:

Previous post: