with edgy attitude
the blank page
(startling white)
looks up at me with
puppy dog eyes
begging for a treat:
“Throw me a word!”
it demands—
just one to get
the train out of the station
while nothing comes to mind
in my early slumberous fog
I know that soon
the words will arrive
to dance their mindless jig
an aura of fushica
cloudless sunrise
poems are so easily lost
especially ones
unwritten
so many gone by the wayside
during my ephemeral time
on this spinning
celestial sphere
I cannot remember
all the poems
I scribbled on napkins
at Denny’s, 3 a.m.
feet soggy from
tramping the berms
of piled snow
running from mania
trying to at least
nor do I recall
the myriad moments
I stole at work to
drink the museful marrow
innocently—
a few minutes here
a few minutes there
spent dictating profundities
while toiling for the man
slow hour by slow hour
tick tock
waiting for the luxury of time
to behold quietude
sanctity
nor can I look back
and discern the exact moment
I forsook labor pains
to jot down
the very meaning
of life
crafting a masterpiece
before welcoming
a small human into
my burning arms
a scratch piece of paper
lost to history in
a hospital trash can
when you’re a poet
inspiration catches you
by surprise at every turn
barraging you from all sides
biscuits and gravy
spreadsheets
giving birth
doesn’t matter how subtle and superfluous
or ardent and sage
everything matters
when you’re a poet
every rainbow contains
a message
you feel compelled to
translate it into words
carefully curated
to be carefully tucked away
in stone crevices
of lonesome hearts
when you’re a poet
everything is
moist and peaty mulch
to be tilled
for the trees in your
mind garden
years from now you can sit back
and admire the dynasty
of leafy serenity
you once planted in the
tough clay ground
and your suspicion will
be vindicated
from the rainstorm
buds blossom
into turquoise stars
to soothe and set free
forlorn souls
previously in chains
yours included
___________
(c) 2018
