Wednesday, April 19, 2006

funny how /every moment of every day / is a poem

&
can't be
won't be / translated to
this / this piece of paper

as if a box could be paper


as if / laying in the tub / staring @
the sky / thru open windows / could
some how / be / cathartic

how does on translate the blue
of dusk / that funny colour of the air

when does the dry ground of early spring
be come / a poem / / /

it can't /

all ways / the perfect words show up
when there is no where to re cord them

yes / come to me / only to be for got ten

yes / come to me / when the hour has
changed for ward / & the day lightens & lifts


this is when / my heart skips /
this is when / i plan my fate

when i hash out the pains / the re members
when i can't think / for the think ing







/

1 comment:

luc u! said...

this reminds me me of this little poem i wrote several years back closely to this effect:

poetry

is (happens) in the most
in opportune time
for
poetry


something like that.
i have thought of this often.

the end of your poem is sad to me. i certainly can relate