Thursday, December 22, 2022


 Poem #44

This is a workmanlike poem

It doesn’t have time for love

It’s all been chiseled from stone

It seeks physical endurance 

While ceding emotional resonance

To aspiring sonnets and odes 

It lacks beautiful imagery

Due to disciplined editing

It settles for being a series of small words

That convey a simple meaning

It’s the stagnant waters dulled to opacity

Desperately clinging to all the colors 

In the sky before the clouds come 

It’s closing your eyes and counting to ten

While all the angels are falling 

You pay it no mind but these 

Are the ones that get inside 

Prosody is fine and dandy

But I’ve always taken to tenacity


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