Poem

Poem #14

You say my poems are all so dark,

Devoid of light or hope or positivity.

But it's a transactional world,
Cold, cashless, stark,
At best a cool reciprocity.

Ok, I’ll try again.

I’ll remove that metaphor 

And show you my son.

Instead of a rhyme 

I’ll peel this orange

And take my damn time.

The juice that squirts you in the eye

Could have been avoided

With a much closer reading.

That citric sere is the same pain

Of looking up at a solar eclipse.

I can strip it all down,

Naked and raw and bare.

No more showing the wind

By the tremoring of leaves in the trees.

That thing you know as breeze

Is just the ever present 

Stillness that kneels for prayer.

I'm trying to soften the edges

Of directness so it doesn't hurt.
Watch yourself!

When it stops being a poem

It reverts to the original seed

That I’ll plant any damn place I please.

6/1/20